Non Sequitur
by Flustrator
Summary: Pete thought that it was another routine quest for another dangerous artifact. Little did he know that he would take a trip that was far more insane... even by Warehouse 13's standards.
1. Emphatic

Hi there!

**My first fic under this account. And first fic under WH13. Woo! **

**Help me celebrate by reviewing this story!**

**Thank you much**

**M.**

(I own nothing)

**UPDATE (07/09/2013): **

**In** **honor of the third anniversary of this fic, I'm going through the story and sprucing it up a bit. Nothing too drastic as I'd like to keep the flavor off the early chapters. The evolution of my writing is pretty evident over the course of the story (to me at least :]), and I think it adds a certain charm. Although I might just have to overhaul the first chapter. I'll think about it. **

**Just fixing a few errors and (very) minor plot-holes that no one but me probably noticed. Have a great day!**

* * *

**Chapter 1.**

"Hey there, Partner. How're you feeling?"

This was the second day in a row Pete Lattimer had awoke to his partner smiling at him in his hospital bed. A wonderful smile that he had complemented once upon a time. He would never admit that he, at least once every investigation, hoped to be critically injured so that he could behold Myka Bering's wonderful smile again. He smiled back.

"Pretty good, considering I've been shot in the heart." Pete attempted to make a joke. Myka's smile dropped, leaving a grim face. Pete remembered that this event took place just days before now; it was probably still fresh in her memory.

And fresh it was. She could vividly recall the look of pure shock on his face as he fell backwards, blood staining his suit from a hole in his chest. Myka had stood there for a moment with a look on her face that closely resembled Pete's, not even registering the fact that the shooter had run away. She had thought for sure that Pete was dead until he called her name weakly. She had then regained her wits and called for help, in a highly distressed tone.

There was something else in her solemn look, something other than him being shot. He could feel it, a vibe.

"What is it, Myka? What happened during the surgery?" He asked, a hint of worry in his voice.

"There never was a surgery, Pete." Myka stated matter-of-factly, as if he'd already been told this information. In fact, he probably was already told, but the pain medication he was taking took a toll on his short term memory. _Pain meds tend to be stronger when you've been shot in the heart._

He explained this to Myka and she had the doctor come in to fill in the details. Dr. Vanger was a tall man with wispy blond-grey hair, and a friendly smile. He had a prominent Swedish accent.

"Well, Agent Lattimer, a short while after you were stabilized, I ordered a chest X-ray," Dr. Vanger held up the translucent, bluish sheets up as proof. He pulled up a stool near his bed to show him. "Right here," He pointed to a small white circle. "Is the bullet that shot you." Pete inched as close as he could before a horrid stinging pain caused him to lay back down.

"You see, that little bullet, against all probability, has lodged itself between your Aorta and Pulmonary Artery. It's quite a miracle that you did not bleed to death at the scene."

Pete interjected, "Well, in our line of work, you can forget probability."

Myka added, "And learn to accept miracles."

The doctor gave a stutter of a laugh and continued, "With a bullet in such a precarious position it would be highly dangerous, if not impossible, for us to attempt to remove it."

Pete gave a worried look to Myka. Obviously, they could not use that fact that the bullet was a possibly dangerous artifact in their bid for the surgery. Not to mention that they were agents whose job it is to hunt the objects down and lock them away forever.

The doctor told Pete to get some rest and that he would be up on his feet in a couple days, and in full working, president-saving order in a few weeks. They thanked the doctor and he left the room in a long stride.

Pete and Myka exchanged a look. They both reached for the Farnsworth that was on the small table next to Pete's bed.

* * *

"Children should learn not to touch what's not theirs!" Artie yelled, mad over the latest artifact disturbance. Claudia was not in the least bit affected by his anger.

"Artemis, I've spent more of my life in this Warehouse than I have outside. This is now my domain. And all that inhabit it." She stopped on the small balcony outside Artie's office and held her hands out wide to the warehouse's contents. Artie was not amused.

He entered the office, leaving Claudia alone to declare her echoing statement of ownership over all things warehouse, to see that Pete and Myka were waiting for him. He sat his bag onto the desk and walked over to them.

"Okay." He said, slapping the usual thick manila folder on the table in front of them. They took a moment to skim it over. "This is an artifact that I haven't been investigating for some time now."

Pete broke his and Myka's silence, not looking up from the folder. "Whoa, two years. Why the wait?"

Artie sat in a chair near them. "Because, the disturbances ended for such a long while that I thought I hit a dead end."

"Until now?"

"Until now."

"So, wait. Do we already know what it is?" Myka asked.

Artie nodded. "Mhmm. Yes. It is, in fact, Jesse James' pistol." Followed by the obligatory moment of emphatic silence.

Pete sniggered, "Reeeeach for the sky!"

Artie ignored him while Myka took the opportunity to berate him.

"Pete, That's Woody from Toy Story." On the outside she was annoyed, but on the inside she was smiling at Pete's slight embarrassment.

"This man," She pointed at the black-and-white photograph in her folder, "was a cold-blooded killer. An outlaw."

"So, what does it do?" Pete sighed noncommittally, brushing off Myka's previous comment, and flipping through the pages in the folder swiftly.

"Well," Artie started, "I don't exactly know."

He met the curious expressions of Pete and Myka. "I've followed the trail of James' pistol from his killer, Robert Ford, to three-and-a-half years ago. Passed from criminal to criminal," He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with his forearm, "And let me tell you, that trail is fraught with all manner of strange happenings. From disappearances to sudden insanity to spontaneous combustion," He paused, "And, obviously, death."

"The interesting thing though," Artie began after a few moments of additional emphatic silence, "is that, despite the fact that the gun is an antique and should be on a mantle somewhere, the number of instances of strange happenings near the artifact have not lessened over time… It's as if-"

"The pistol is drawing people to use it?" Myka offered.

"Right." He said, with praise, but not surprise. Artie's face then took a more serious look.

"That being the case, I want you to be careful." Both Myka and Pete nodded, with the usual 'right's and 'we will's.

Pete stood up, stretching loudly with a yawn. "Aight, Artemis." Artie cringed at the use of his unwanted nickname he received from she-who-shall-not-be-named. "Where are we headed?"

"To the site of the latest and final disturbance," Artie started, exhausting his supply of emphatic silences, "The City of Angels."

* * *

**How's bout a lil review?**


	2. Off

Chapter 2_

Pete Lattimer sat vigilant in the metal chair outside the Starbucks. He wore a Cleveland Indians baseball cap, complete with mirrored, concealing aviators. He blended in quite well, considering the rest of what he was wearing was a suit. The streets were not too crowded and not too empty. The Starbucks, however, was very busy. He occupied one of the last round tables situated in the shop's outdoor lounge. The fact that he was by himself earned the angry glares of larger groups of people that wished to sit down. Pete just smiled, took another sip of his Venti Java Chip Frappuccino (with a double shot of espresso, topped with whipped cream), and turned his head elsewhere.

Two months had passed since the nearly-fatal bullet entered his chest; and to his joy, the offending piece of lead was scheduled to be removed in a few days.

Dr. Vanger had conceded that, if he gave the minor scratches on his arteries time to heal, that the bullet could be removed without much complication. He had feared that lead poisoning could be a problem, but was surprised to learn that it had not entered his bloodstream. In fact, the only place where lead was present in his body was the bullet itself. He recommended that Pete have regular check-ups with his normal Doctor just to be safe.

Everyone was ecstatic. Well, except for Artie, who was eager to get him back into the field, and dismissed it as an occupational hazard. He was more excited at the prospect of resuming the search for the Jesse James pistol. And Myka, who seemed to be drifting away from him. They hadn't spoken more than a few sentences to each other since before the incident. And Leena, whom he'd never seen ecstatic about anything, just the same flowing calm.

So, basically, it was just Pete and Claudia who were excited. Although, it wasn't so much about his well-being for Claudia, she was just happy that she wouldn't have to play nice with him anymore. Pete laughed to himself.

Pete's thoughts drifted back to Myka.

She'd seen him get shot in the chest, she'd feared of his death. Although it wasn't the first time she'd seen him almost die, it was the first time she was fully convinced he would never come back. The hours of uncertainty in the hospital, and the waiting. It was not like the other times.

Pete knew she was still scared of getting hurt again. She was subconsciously withdrawing herself. He hoped she would drift back, like the other times. But as the weeks passed, Pete grew less hopeful. _I ain't dying so soon, Myka._

Pete was in the middle of a sad, small grin when he felt the vibe. It surged through him like a great deluge. His eyes darted searching through the people that were walking up and down the sidewalks. He felt doubt, but dismissed it. There was no faking a vibe.

Then he saw him.

Pete pulled off his sunglasses swiftly and narrowed his eyes. He pulled the piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it. It showed a mug shot of a rugged man in his forties. He had an angry, drunken grimace; and his medium-length, dark hair hung haphazardly on his forehead. Pete looked back at the man on the street. He looked cleaner, shaven, and his hair was neatly slicked back, but he had the same cross scowl. It was definitely him.

He stood up with the confidence of an agent, discarded his unfinished drink, and walked sternly toward the man.

Subtlety wasn't one of Pete's strong suits. He barely made it onto the street before the man saw his agent-y demeanor and broke into a run. Pete pulled out the Tesla and sprinted after him.

"Secret Service!" Pete shouted, frightening some of the street-goers. "Charles Telford! Stop!"

He was out of shape. Because of the bullet, the doctor suggested that he stay away from strenuous activity for a few months. He was paying for it now.

Pete was breathing heavily, weaving through the people on the sidewalk. He pressed his finger to his ear. "Myka, I've got him." He said calmly between breaths.

"Are you sure?" She replied. The field was one of the few places they talked anymore. Other than the professional greetings and farewells, pleasantries that strangers use.

"Yeah. Dude bolted as soon as he saw me."

"Where are you?" She asked, the sound of a car door slamming and keys jangling in the background.

"Heading East on Euclid Avenue. There's some construction going on so I wouldn't waste my time driving. He's heading in your direction anyway. We can box him in."

"Alright. And Pete…" She started hesitantly.

"Yeah?" Pete gasped, still running.

"Be careful."

"Sure thing, Myka." He said as thoughtfully as he could. "Over and out." He dropped his arm with a smile and broke into a full sprint, feeling his energy coming back.

Telford kept a steady pace, but Pete was slowly catching up. The crowd grew slightly more sparse. Suddenly, Telford took a sharp left into a narrow alleyway.

"Dammit." Pete swore and followed him. The alley was empty except for them and their echoing footsteps. Telford disappeared after turning down a slight curve. Pete ran harder, unwilling to let himself lose Telford.

The alley came to a dead end; a wall of bricks. When Pete caught up, Telford was facing the wall, breathing hard.

Pete coughed out, "There's no where left to go Telford. Hand over the artifact."

Telford turned around with a grin that was even more frightening than his scowl. He reached his hand into his pockets and pulled a dusty-looking wooden slingshot out of his right pocket. Pete lifted the Tesla toward him in retaliation.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Put it down, man." Pete commanded, jutting the Tesla forcefully in his direction. Telford pulled something else out of his other pocket. Between his index finger and thumb, he held up a small stone, in a gesture that resembled the OK sign.

Pete calmly commanded again, "Put it down… Or I will shoot you."

Telford proceeded to put the stone in the sling. Pete sighed vigorously and pulled the trigger of the Tesla. He expected a powerful bolt of electricity to shoot out, rendering Telford unconscious or at least stunned for enough time for Pete to subdue him. Instead, he heard an electrical fizzle. He looked down at the gun to see that the battery was dead.

"You've got to be KIDDING ME." Pete shouted angrily. He looked up at Telford who only chuckled slightly, continuing to load the sling.

Telford held the slingshot in front of him, planting his feet as if preparing to shoot a powerful rifle. He pulled the sling back far, to his ear. The stretching sound that emanated from the elastic was louder than a jet plane. Pete had to restrain himself from covering his ears. The ground began to rumble, and dust slipped from the neglected bricks and cement of the alleyway, creating a minor fog. Telford's arm trembled, and he laughed excitedly, if not maniacally.

Running away would be of no use now.

Pete let the Tesla drop to his side. He could barely hear Myka yelling for him through the ear communicator.

"I'm almost there, Pete!" She said while running, bordering on tears.

Unlike the bullet through his chest, he would definitely not survive this. Pete had the heart to respond to Myka, to say his last words to her, the words that needed to be said. In this respect, he would succeed where Sam had failed.

"This isn't your fault. Goodbye, Myka. I love you." He said softly.

He took one last fleeting look at Telford's crazed face. He looked like he was relishing the moment.

Pete's heart beat quickened. He could feel his pulse burst through his neck and chest. The wave went into his brain and throughout his body. It was a euphoric feeling. It radiated powerfully through his body and legs. If this was what death felt like, he enjoyed it.

Then it was all gone.

All was silent. The horrible stretching sound was no more.

Was he dead? Was death just a silent void? Would this be his eternity?

No. He wasn't dead. He could still feel his heart beating through his chest; the air filling his lungs. He licked his lips, took a deep breath, and opened his eyes.

He hadn't moved an inch. He was still in that alley. Telford was gone, a blank brick wall was in his place. Pete had somehow cheated death again.

He suddenly registered that it was night. It had been four in the afternoon but thirty seconds ago. A wave of confusion ensued. He could've racked his brain for hours about how this was possible.

Maybe the slingshot just sends people through time?

_No, Telford destroyed a railroad bridge, and two police cars with that thing._

Maybe Artie, or Claudia, or Myka saved him?

_No, they would've told me. The more probable cause is Mrs. Frederic. Who knows what she's capable of._

Pete continued his thoughts as he eagerly made his way out of the alleyway, which was much more creepy at night. There were no lights, and an anonymous squeaking nearly made him shriek.

Upon reaching the threshold of the alleyway, Pete stopped. He felt an odd burning sensation in his chest, prompting his hand to meet it. It grew more intense and painful. It felt like needles and fire and all manner of unpleasant things had begun to attack his body. The power forced Pete to the ground with a loud thump. He gasped in his breaths shakily. And just when he was about to let out a scream for help, something unexpected happened.

He smelled fudge.

It was as if he dipped his face in a vat of the stuff. It was so strong that he never wanted to see, smell, taste, or even hear the word "fudge" ever again. He grew nauseated from the pain, but mostly from the smell.

After a few moments, the pain subsided; and, thankfully, so did the fudge. He just laid there, recovering, before sitting up with a groan. He balanced his elbows on his knees and looked up to the sky.

The vibe Pete felt just then was different than the others.

Nothing was wrong. There was nothing bad about this vibe. It was like he'd never experienced this type before. Something was definitely off, but he let it float to the back of his mind.

He thought about Myka.

His head fell slightly. She was bawling hopelessly when he told her goodbye. She would probably never speak to him again. He dreaded the moment when she would say that she was leaving the Warehouse for good. He nearly cried.

He lifted his head and pressed his hand to his ear.

"Myka." He said softly. Mirroring the same tone as before. The reply was nothing but a dull static. He knew it was a long shot, but he had to try.

Pete rubbed his chest again. The remnants of the burning sensation still lingered in his ribcage. He made the decision not to think about the absurdity of what had happened today. He wanted to sleep more than anything else. He was deathly tired, but he realized that he could not sleep on the sidewalk, so he stood up and made his way down Euclid Avenue.

He thought of the fudge.

He did vomit this time.

_Something is definitely off._


	3. Disappearance and Reappearance

Chapter 3_

"Mr. Aries?"

Aries looked up at the man addressing him. It was his secretary. A pathetic excuse for a man, but he got the job done, and that was what Aries needed. The secretary's bald, bespectacled head had peeked in the door, a small amount of fear in his eyes.

"Yes, Nigel?" He asked in annoyance, his head resting in palm, elbow firmly planted on the dark oak desk.

His office was lit only by a small, dim lamp fixed near the edge of his desk. The large window behind him, which was designed for the wondrous view, was covered up by a set of completely opaque curtains. He did not care for views anymore. Or light, for that matter.

"_She's _here."

Aries lifted his head slowly.

"She's here? Now?" He asked, surprised, with a tinge of panic. He had just sent his e-mail reply to her request for a meeting five minutes ago.

After the initial shock, he said, "Alright, let her in." Nigel nodded silently and retreated out of the room. Aries straightened his suit jacket and tie, and sat up straight. The clock seemed to tick slower and slower as he awaited her entrance.

The door creaked open.

"Hello, Aries." The black woman said with a sedate smile.

She looked the same. Her jacket and skirt were a vivid red. Knitted with care, like something a grandmother would wear. She held her small pocket book at her waist, and walked with eloquence and grace. Her body was that of your average woman in her mid-fifties: thin wrinkles and slightly overweight. She had stylish glasses resting on the bridge of her nose. Those were new. Her curly hair was pulled back into a tight bun.

"It's been a while," Aries said calmly, "Leona."

She lifted her brow at the say of her long unused name.

"Ah. You're called something else now. You must excuse me if I don't recall what your new name is."

Her smile grew infinitesimally wider. "Leona is fine."

"Alright then." He said, almost whispering, mesmerized by the woman standing before him. She struck an uncomfortable fear in him that he had not felt in a long while. An effect that she had on a lot of people.

"It has been many years, my friend. But there will be other times for catching up. Certain events have come to pass." She walked up to the vacant chair opposite Aries and sat gently. "Events that might be beneficial to you and I."

"You were quite vague in your e-mail." He stated.

"I apologize, Aries," she said, with an indifferent tone, "but I don't know all the variables, and a single misstep can have serious repercussions."

Aries looked at Leona with a questioning gaze, and rapped his fingers on the desk.

She pulled a manila folder seemingly out of nowhere and slapped it on his desk, startling him. "Peter Joseph Lattimer."

He leafed through the folder. "What about him?"

"He disappeared three weeks ago."

Aries laughed, "Your job must be hell right now then."

Leona did not laugh. "You have no idea."

He looked at the folder for a few minutes, learning the basics on Lattimer. He was an Secret Service agent, reassigned to Warehouse 13 a little over two years ago; and, as of July 17, 2011... missing.

"The Regents will have my head for you even showing me this." He set the folder down, with an irritated look.

She said nothing, waiting for him to respond in a more favorable way.

He sighed, "What does this man have to do with anything?"

Leona smiled again. "The nature of his disappearance puts him in a position to single-handedly bring you back into the Regents favor, and out of this office."

He smiled at her. They had used his previous status as a lawyer to stick him in that office. He was placed in litigation in a fairly large New York firm. He defended businesses and powerful men.

Aries never wanted that. He would have rather settled in a small town firm, dealing with small town cases. But instead, he was that asshole who made the rich get richer, and left the others under the bus. With a salary of 550 dollars per hour, a salary that any normal lawyer would kill for, he tried to live as meager life as possible.

His past mistakes may have merited him termination, but he was not dumb. The Regents wouldn't just let him loose in the world to do what he pleased. The secrets in his head were more dangerous than most of the artifacts in the warehouse.

He'd seen the black van many times. Passing his apartment complex. When he ate lunch. While he walked from his car to the firm. At the grocery store. Leaving the bar at 2 AM... And who knows what kind of devices they had in his apartment, and in his office. Listening to his every move, every word. Every time he had sex, every time he got berated by the higher-ups, every time he yelled at the walls, convinced they were listening... They were there.

And the moment he became a liability, Aries would disappear. Killed or perhaps worse, knowing them.

Aries feared he had become too paranoid.

"They're still watching me, you know..." He said, looking down.

She nodded once.

Aries ran a hand through his hair. "You better not be messing with me here, Leona. Those people will kill me."

"I'll die before I let them harm you." She said, sternly.

Aries half-smiled, still staring at his desk, appreciating the impossibility of that statement. "Then I guess I'm safe."

He breathed in deeply, sucking in the office smell that he had lived with for more than 20 years, and looked deep into Leona's gaze.

Aries knew that she was the one who convinced the Regents not to kill him. And although she would never admit it, she was probably the only reason he was alive today. And She was the only reason he hadn't ended his life willingly already. The least he could do to repay her was this one favor.

"Okay. I'll do it. Whatever 'it' is." He stood up, opened the dusty curtain, and looked to the grey sky.

Leona smiled, pleased.

"Looks like rain." He closed the curtain and turned around.

She was gone.

He smiled, returned to his desk, and retrieved the whiskey in his desk drawer.

"I hate it when she does that."

* * *

The night was calm on Euclid Avenue. The bugs, the dull roar of a far-off highway, and an occasional passing car were the only sounds that Pete heard as he walked lazily down the sidewalk towards the hotel.

The air was cool and refreshing; it rejuvenated him, gave him some strength for the long walk. But he feared it wouldn't be enough. He had roamed the city for about 5 hours before finding the Starbucks and sighting Telford... The man's name brought heat to his emotions.

Pete reluctantly thought about everything that happened that day.

Telford's crazed face. Myka's crying. The feeling of impending death. A death that he had escaped yet again.

Somehow.

The list of possibilities of what happened to him was as extensive as the list of things his mind could conceive; and that mind, as a result of being transferred to Warehouse 13, had learned to accept that the imaginary can be more relevant than the reality.

Pete stopped and groaned. The hotel was at least another mile or two away. It would not have taken him too long except for his slow pace and frequent stops made the journey last. He turned on his heel and saw a glass window on the building he was near.

Pete examined his appearance in the reflection. He looked horrible to say the least. His hair was mussed up, dirty with cement dust. In fact, every inch of his body was covered in dust. He swore and proceeded to brush off his suit with his hands. He sighed, then coughed from the dusty air. His face was bruised and he had dark circles around his eyes. Probably from the fall.

He lifted his arm and sniffed. Surprisingly fresh.

He hummed, satisfied. He looked marginally normal for a man walking around in the late night hours. A fleeting moment passed in which he felt well enough to make it all the way to the hotel.

The long stretch of Euclid Avenue in front of him, however, was daunting. He sighed, feeling all the confidence and strength leave him. Even the cement looked comfortable. Pete felt like he could not walk another step, as if he had just ran a marathon.

"I give up."

He sat down on the hard cement against the building and took a deep, tired breath. Pete took off his suit jacket and draped it over his upper body, shivering a little.

He looked up. The sky was clear and he could pick out the constellations his father had shown him when he was a kid. He smiled at the thought and closed his eyes.

* * *

"Sir?"

Pete groaned. His back and neck were stiff and immobile.

"Hey, Dave?" The voice spoke. "What exactly did you see?" His voice grew further away. He was talking to someone else.

"Everything was fine when I did the final check last night. I came this morning and he was just lying there." The man named Dave paused. "Got quite a fancy suit for a hobo."

The first voice laughed, "It's fine now, Dave. I can take it from here."

"Alright, Officer. Take care, now." Footsteps trailed off.

Officer?

Pete opened his eyes. It was bright and blurry out. He squinted in the voice's direction. There was a police officer standing over him, looking suspicious.

"Officer Lawrence. St. Cloud Police Department. Mind if I ask what you're doing out here?" The Officer held out his hand and helped Pete off of the ground.

Pete took in his surroundings. He was in a train yard. But not just any train yard.

A few months back, Pete and Myka journeyed to a small town in Minnesota to investigate a series of strange deaths. The doctor had said that the people had died from what appeared to be venomous snake bites. The team learned that the last death by snake was over a century ago, and the only known venomous snakes in Minnesota were near the Mississippi River, and they were endangered. After they acquired the autopsy report, they learned that the deaths were not brought on by snake venom, but that, shortly after they were bitten, all electrical activity in their brains halted. After careful investigation, they tracked the artifact (which turned out to be a very aggressive metallic snake that killed its victims by stopping all brain activity with a mysterious force) to the very train yard Pete was in at present. Myka was bitten. And had Pete not neutralized it in time, whatever force had killed the others would have claimed Myka's life as well. That was one of Pete's worst scares of his whole life. Second only to learning of his father's death.

Being in this train yard again did not help Pete's tired brain.

Half of the yard was filled with the multi-colored cars, while the other half was empty tracks and dirt. There were no large buildings in the distance, or much of anything else, but he could make out trees past the border of the train yard, along with some unmarked, white warehouses. Pete did not know why he was where he was, but one thing was for sure...

He was definitely not in Cleveland anymore.

Pete stumbled back, taking in everything at once. The officer stepped back as well, prepared for anything. The ground was dead and dry, the scarce clumps of grass crunched beneath his feet. The sky was clear and the sun, in the high noon sky, shone down directly. Pete's mind was going into overdrive. He gripped his fists, nearly delirious with confusion.

"Where the hell am I?" Pete asked, with an edge to his voice, and the officer took a defensive stance.

"Hey, now."

Pete backed himself into a red train car. The hollow, metallic sound hurt his sleepy ears.

"Whoa, there, Mister. You don't want to hurt yourself." He put a hand cautiously on his service weapon.

The world was spinning. Pete attempted to grab the metal bars on the train car for stability, but it was no use. A powerful wave of vertigo made him fall forward in a way that made Officer Lawrence assume that Pete was attacking him. In a couple of seconds, Lawrence pinned him to the ground. Pete groaned loudly and cursed. He felt the cold grip of hand cuffs tighten on his wrists.

Lawrence shoved Pete into a standing position and proceeded to escort him from the train yard. The Officer was young, must have just graduated from the academy. The other officers, assuming that Pete was just some homeless vagabond hitching a ride, probably dumped the job of getting him onto the young policeman.

Pete used the walking time to clear his head, and try to figure out what had happened to him. He ran through the mental list of possibilities he had compiled back on Euclid Avenue. None of them seemed plausible. Had he been in the Warehouse, or somewhere with an artifact of unknown power, he would have something to go on. But he and Myka had known exactly what Telford's artifact was and what it did. So, he could rule out the slingshot. Then again, there aren't many time traveling objects hidden in Cleveland alleyways for him to happen upon by pure coincidence either. Pete mentally growled in frustration.

He ran through the list one more time, and stopped on one theory. While the cause was ruled out, it was the only theory that Pete could go on without making Lawrence think he was even more crazy.

"What's the date today?" Pete asked, feeling a little ridiculous.

Officer Lawrence had an annoyed look on his face. "May 23."

Pete's head dropped.

So... he had traveled through time.

Over the course of his life, Pete had learned not to panic. That life lesson was reenforced by being moved to Warehouse 13, where all manner of things can go wrong in a split second, leaving you with no time to think. Therefore, he took the realization of his time displacement in stride, and attempted to figure out how to get out of the predicament.

Pete looked on the bright side. It wasn't too bad. It was only a few weeks before he and Myka would go after Telford. He began to breath even then. It was just a matter of waiting until that day, getting to Artie, and sorting out this whole mess. It would all be over and he could get back to normal (well... as normal as usual) life.

Uh oh. Bad vibe.

Pete felt a horrid taste creep up his throat with the next question. "And the year?"

"1976."

Pete stopped abruptly. He didn't even register the small shove Officer Lawrence gave him. Then, without thinking, Pete broke free of the rookie's hold and jetted down the empty half of the train yard, toward the trees and warehouses.

"Get back here!" He shouted, taking off after Pete, who had not taken into account that Lawrence was fresh out of the academy, and was no doubt faster, and had more stamina, than him. He was gaining.

Pete huffed in a straight line, not caring where he was headed, fueled by shock, and not particularly attentive. A pair of unused, half-buried railroad tracks seemed to sneak up on him. He felt the biting pain in his toes, banged his head, and tasted dirt.

The crunchy steps of Officer Lawrence came to a halt next to Pete's splayed body. He was again hoisted up and forced to walk, albeit this time with more hostility and a tighter grip.

They came up to Lawrence's cruiser and Pete couldn't help but laugh at the antique. He could feel the angry glare at him, but had already decided that there was not much more he could do to further the idea that he was crazy, and had stopped trying to convince Lawrence otherwise.

The officer opened the door pushed him down and in. Pete scooted to the middle of the cruiser and Lawrence slammed the door angrily. The irate officer sat in the driver seat and started the car.

"Station, this is Lawrence, over."

"Copy."

"I'm bringing in the hobo from the train yard for a night in the slammer. He was being... difficult."

"I'm not a hobo." Pete said from the backseat, behind the cage. Officer Lawrence payed no attention to the comment and continued to confer with the station.

The city had not changed much from the way he remembered it those few months ago. Other than a few buildings missing and more fields and trees, it was the same town.

Pete found it difficult to wrap his mind around the fact that he was in 1976, so he decided to wait until he got rested in a real bed to try. A jail bed, but a bed, nonetheless. He rubbed his aching back and neck. He could not tell whether the time travel or the sleeping on cement was responsible. Pete was just thankful that he had apparently slept through the horrible burning pain, and sickening fudge smell that he had endured the last time he time traveled. He got a touch nauseous from the memory.

He decided to get a head start on his rest, recalling that the train yard was quite a ways from the Police Station. He leaned his head back, felt the vibration of the cars engine, and let it drift him away. His last thought was about Myka and he wonderful smile.


	4. Speak of the Devil

**Chapter 4**

**

* * *

**

Pete sat still and silent in the metal chair.

The room was empty, except for the table situated in front of him, another chair, four bare cement walls, and a dark red door. This was the interrogation room. He had been in many, but usually as the interrogator, never as the interrogatee.

Pete had spent his first hour in the Police station inside one of their cells. He had even caught a few minutes of sleep before he was aroused by the young Officer Lawrence. He had been shuffled quickly into this room and left alone.

Lawrence had asked for his wallet and other belongings, identification and such. He kept his cell phone to himself, not wanting to find out the consequences of showing a piece of technology that was thirty-some years before its time. Pete reluctantly imagined that the result would be the 1970's equivalent of being burned at the stake.

Pete rubbed his sore wrists and leaned his head back... only to be startled by the loud sound of the door opening. It was like they had waited.

It wasn't Lawrence this time. He wore a tan suit, and a black tie. His hair was classic 70's middle-aged combover, with some discreet sideburns. He had friendly features behind the graying stubble, and tell-tale signs of a hard life. But Pete had a good vibe about him for some reason. Pete was happy that they hadn't sent in some hardened, soulless cop to do this interrogation; he wasn't sure he could handle it. But a cop is still a cop, he had a serious look on his face, ready to do his job.

The officer dropped Pete's wallet on the table with a slapping sound that lingered for a few seconds afterward.

"We have you on some pretty serious charges, Mr. Lattimer." He said matter-of-factly, leaning on his hands. He took off his tan jacket, draped it over the other chair, and sat down across from Pete.

"Counterfeiting, trespassing, resisting arrest, assault of an officer, the list goes on and gets much more serious."

Pete looked from his wallet to the man's eyes. "I can explain."

"I had a hunch that you could. After all," He stopped, tapping Pete's wallet, "you are a Secret Service agent." He had a smugness about him that indicated disbelief. Pete just sat, staring angrily.

The officer stood up, and paced slowly up and down the room.

"There is not, nor was there ever, a Secret Service agent named Peter Joseph Lattimer."

Pete was growing impatient. "Look-" He tried to interrupt. The officer disregarded his attempt.

"Impersonating a federal agent is a crime that can land you in a place where you won't see the sunshine for many long years."

"Hey." Pete said, annoyed. Again, ignored.

"I mean, not to mention this counterfeiting job." He took a moment to laugh and pulled out one of Pete's twenty dollar bills. "It's like you didn't even try." He regarded it for a few more seconds. "A great work of art though."

Pete almost found it laughable.

He felt his anger melt away to slight dizziness. "Why are you here?"

"The feds are already on their way. I thought I'd get some face time. You _are _the most high profile case to come through here in a while."

Pete was silent.

"I'm Detective Allen Casablancas." He raised his hand to shake. Pete did not reciprocate, but Casablancas did not seem to mind.

They didn't say a word for a few minutes.

"You know, Lawrence thinks you're a nut."

Pete rolled his eyes, not surprised at all. "What about you?"

Casablancas was silent for a moment, judging the man before him. "I'm not quite sure yet."

"Well, If it's any consolation, I'm not crazy." He paused. "At least, I don't think so."

"Your situation sure as hell is, Lattimer. And, like my fellow officers, I find it hard to understand what a federal criminal such as yourself would be doing passed out in a middle of a train yard in St. Cloud, Minnesota."

Pete laughed. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you." He had waited two years to say that line.

Detective Casablancas cracked the smallest smile. "I trust that."

At that moment, the red door opened and Officer Lawrence peeked his head in.

"FBI's here for our friend." He shot a glare at Pete, which was gladly mirrored.

"Alright." Casablancas said with disdain. He hated dealing with the FBI and all types of federal officers. Which was his reason for taking this job. In a small town, he rarely conversed with them. He re-cuffed Pete and escorted him out of the cement room.

They were waiting near the entrance. Pete felt a deep anxiety in his core. Partly from his lack of sleep, and partly from the knowledge of the absurd facts he would be trying to explain soon.

They were your stereotypical Feds. Clean cut and proper. And hard, penetrating stares. They were like machines designed to intimidate the normal folk. Usually, it was Pete in their position. It was quite unnerving to be on the other side of that situation.

He felt a flutter in his chest as Casablancas handed him to the two agents. It nearly made him topple, but he regained his composure without letting them know he had lost it. They walked out of the building into the parking lot.

It was as if he saw the future. The hopeless interrogations and accusations. He would undoubtedly be sentenced to federal prison for the majority, if not all, of his life. From their point of view, he was an imposter and a criminal. And it would be hard to convince them otherwise. Unless...

"Irene Frederick." Pete said. The agents ignored him.

Pete shook his body, which resulted in tightened grip. One that hurt his arms.

Their black van was looming at the other end of the parking lot.

He shook again, with more force. He yelled, "I want to see Irene Frederick!"

They struggled. The two agents were trying to pin him to the ground, but it was no use. Pete was using all of his tired energy. He exerted himself to the edge. He was able to escape and run a few steps before he heard guns drawn.

Pete turned slowly. Their pistols were aimed effortlessly in his direction. He didn't feel afraid though. Pete had had all manner of weapons pointed at him over the years, supernatural or otherwise. They were going to take him, and there was no hope.

He thought of Myka.

At the very instant Myka's visage passed his mind's eye, his heart went into overdrive. Pete started to hyperventilate. Pete dropped to his knees and looked to the sky. His palms were sweaty and shaking.

If he did not do something right now, he would never see her again.

Soon, the panic left and the heart-wrenching euphoria began. It all was very familiar to him. It was the precursor of time travel.

"Go get some help!" One of the agents yelled. The more dominant one, Pete had assumed back in the station.

In some small part of his brain, he was excited. The part of Pete that was kid-like was rejoicing.

The remaining agent still held his gun at him, unaware of what was about to happen.

Pete's heart was beating though his chest again, with each pound a disabling wave of euphoria. His breathing was out of control, with a speed that wasn't present when he faced Telford. Physically, it resembled a panic attack, but there was not a feeling of panic, only of extreme, debilitating pleasure.

Then, in the blink of an eye, the agent disappeared. Along with the entirety of the police station.

All of the pre-trip feelings were gone, and had reversed. It left him dead tired and ready to collapse.

Pete cursed silently, he still had his handcuffs on. But they were very loose. Too loose. With some tactic he could probably get out of them. It took a little more work than he anticipated, but he eventually squeezed his slightly swollen hands out of the metal cuffs. He tossed them over his head with pleasure.

Pete thanked Detective Casablancas aloud, out of breath. He decided he would have to find him and thank him once he made it home.

That is, if he ever made it home.

He looked around. This place was oddly familiar. He couldn't place it in his mind. That was unusual for Pete. He usually recalled things, places, and people instantly, without much thought. Time travel must have been messing with his head. The after effects were quite unfavorable, so Pete was not too surprised.

The fatigue then hit him in a painful wave, in stark contrast to the time travel feelings.

Speak of the devil.

The last sight he took in before dropping to the sidewalk, on which he now kneeled, was the bright blue color of the bookstore in front of him, the white sign that read _Bering and Sons_, and the bespectacled, curly-haired, teenaged girl reading inside.

* * *

Tension gripped the man as he walked up the hotel corridor. The odd wallpaper pattern only furthered his unease. Roses, daisies, roses, daisies. The same sketched, watercolored, reprinted pattern over and over again.

He used to be an artist. That was a lifetime ago; and yet he still held onto the pointless idiosyncrasies of a man infatuated with the expression of oil and canvas. Seeing the wrong colors together, a shoddy painting, or, in this case, badly designed wallpaper, made his mood plunge.

As he walked down the hallway, he could feel the flowers staring at him, biting too. The events of the past twenty-four hours had turned every step into a battle, every thought suicidal, and this very hallway into a spiraling corridor of doom.

He truly hated himself for what he had done.

Finally, he approached room 523. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the key. The trembling of his hands made the task of putting the key into the lock nearly impossible, but after a few deep breaths and heavy concentration, he managed to insert and turn the key. He entered and shut the door behind him, leaning on the cold, maroon-colored surface, blocking out the hallway and the evil it held.

The room matched the door. The dark maroon the seemed to shrink the space around him. It didn't bother him though. He much preferred it to the bland beige and generic framed artwork of your garden variety motel. Relief swept over him, thankful that the malevolent floral pattern of the hallway was nowhere to be seen.

The man walked past the beds and to the window, closing the blinds, and leaving the room in semi-blackness. Night was on its way.

He walked backwards to one of the room's two beds and sat. He removed his black trench coat and placed it on the table that was right next to the bed. With a click, he turned on the lamp, flooding the room in dull yellow light.

He debated whether or not to lie back and enter what would probably be a sweaty, nightmare-filled sleep, but his body refused to move for the moment. He lifted his arm and traced figure eights on the dark maroon comforter, while simultaneously blocking out the memories of the past hours. After a few minutes of sweet ignorance, he stopped and faced the certain truth.

A single tear fell onto his tie, followed by many more. He put his face in his hands and let out a sob. He cried for nearly an hour, all the while berating himself for allowing the tears in the first place.

The raw flow of years of stunted emotion poured out of him, turning him into a sad heap on his bed. Regret, guilt, regret, guilt. An even worse pattern then that of the floral wallpaper.

Then, the phone rang.

He stopped, eyeing the black telephone. He did not want to talk to anybody at the moment, but after the seventh ring it was clear that they weren't giving up. He coughed, and took in some breaths, essentially erasing his previous emotions from existence.

He put his hand to the phone, but froze. His hand hovered over the black receiver, unable to pull away, but also unable to pick it up. There were only a few people who knew he was even in this room. And although he knew this moment was inevitable, he expected it to come later.

But, like he had stepped out of his own body and watched himself do it, he picked up the phone.

"H-hello?"

"Gemini." The calm voice responded. The man dropped his head, almost crying again.

"Yes."

"We were very disappointed by your actions today."

Gemini sighed hopelessly. "Look, I can explai-"

"No need to explain, Gemini."

"Just listen, please." Gemini pleaded.

"Your termination is effective immediately." The voice said, without hesitation or warning.

Gemini could barely understand the words said. "What?"

Silence and slow breathing was the response.

Gemini gripped the receiver hard, and roared, "_You can't fucking do this to me!" _It was a burst of anger that he did not expect from himself, but his entire brain cheered in approval.

"There's no need to shout."

"Aww, go to hell!"

There was a pause from the voice on the other end. The tiniest bit of agitation seeped out, "We have come to the consensus that your actions merited this consequence. If you cannot come to terms with that then we might just go back to our original plan."

Gemini heard a murmur of another voice. It seemed to be trying to calm the man on the phone down. But, Gemini knew the man on the phone was right. He deserved whatever punishment they had ready for him. But he couldn't bring himself to confess.

"Look, the guy knew we were coming. We were ambushed. I was lucky to make it out of there alive."

"Don't try to fool us, Gemini. It's not working." He said, calmly again. "You watched your team walk into that building, and then you ran. You heard their screams, and you still ran. Your cowardice cannot go unpunished."

Gemini was silent.

"You leave for your new place of residence tomorrow. Your new job, identity, and life is waiting for you."

"What? You can't do that to me." He spoke, feeling his fighting energy lessen.

"You'll find that we can. Whether you go willingly, or if we arrange for you to wake up in your new bed."

Gemini didn't respond. He had no hope, but to surrender in this situation. He hadn't thought about the consequences when he ran and left his team to die. Not only the Regents' punishment, but the emotional punishment he would have to endure. This evil little bug would crawl inside him for the rest of his life. He put his head in his hand again.

The other voice spoke, "Don't bother contacting your family or friends. They don't even remember you existed."

Another tear fell onto his tie. "I'm hanging up now."

A pompous breath. "Very well."

Gemini slammed the phone down so hard that he broke the receiver in half. He felt like he needed to scream, but he had no more energy left. There would be many more years in the future for screaming. But he would have to wait.

He waited through the plane trip, the taxi ride, and the elevator ride to his floor.

His room was white and bare. And it would stay that way, he decided. There was a black couch, and a glass table in the center of the living room. He sat down and saw a yellow piece of paper stuck to the walk opposite him.

Gemini walked to the wall and beheld a brief note, written in pen.

_I'm sorry,_

_L._

He then screamed as loud as he could for as long as he could. He screamed until his voice was dry, until he nearly passed out from exertion. He screamed until he laid breathless on his cold, unused bed, not ready for the years to come. Such lonely years.

Before he drifted into another night of restless sleep, he saw a brand new wallet on his nightstand. He rolled over to the other side of the bed and picked the it up, noting the quality leather and expensive aura.

He saw a brand new credit card and drivers license. All of the information was the same. Date of birth, eye color, et cetera... They used the picture from his old driver's license. He was amazed at the speed that they had produced it. He had been forced to hand all personal objects and identification of his previous life to a goon that waited at the airport. That was only hours ago.

The only thing that was different on the license was his name. He had to laugh.

_Edwin J. Aries._

_

* * *

_

"Son?"

Pete was aroused from another death-like sleep, "Dad? Dad, I don't wanna gmr a prgnoe a haba there."

"Had a little to much to drink last night? C'mon, I have some coffee inside." The voice said, with a few polite slaps to Pete's face.

The slaps caused Pete to shoot up in full alert mode. He refused to be put in the same position as last time. He looked side to side, breathing heavily.

After he realized that it wasn't another cop, Pete looked at his waker. He was younger, had more hair, and some black stubble, but it was definitely Myka's father. Warren Bering.

Pete squeezed his eyes with his fingers and laughed, trying to play that he wasn't immensely sore at that moment.

"It's alright. I'm sorry about that. I'm not crazy." Pete assured, more convincingly than he expected.

Bering's hand came down to help Pete up. He stood and dusted himself off.

"I think I fainted. It's quite a... hot day." It wasn't. But Bering didn't seem to mind. He assumed Pete was one of those guilty drunks. Bering walked to the door of his shop/home and opened the door.

"Myka, grab this man some coffee, will ya?" Bering said, as he and Pete entered the store. She got up without looking at Pete and walked away, rolling her eyes.

She was younger. Sixteen or seventeen, maybe. But he could still see the Myka he knew and loved in her. The woman she would grow to be. Pete was thankful that in some weird, space-time twisted way, he was with her again. It put him at ease. Gave him a feeling like he would get out of this messed up situation somehow. A very good, doubt-busting, evil-conquering vibe that reverberated, drowning out all the bad ones.

"What's your name, son?" Bering repeated, holding his hand out.

Pete shook out of his own mind. "Pe.. Pe.. Artie." He felt the need to disguise his own name. After all, he was going to meet them sometime in the future.

Pete uneasily shook his hand.

"You got a last name Artie?"

"Umm... Donovan."

"Warren Bering." He said, squeezing the life out of Pete's hand.

"Nice... to meet you."

Suddenly, a phone rang.

"Sorry, Artie. Myka'll be right down with your coffee." He walked off to a phone somewhere. Pete could hear his incomprehensible murmurs.

Pete stood awkwardly near the doorway. Even though he had been here before, he felt like he hadn't. Time travel was messing with his instincts. It was unnerving, but he could deal. Especially when he was here. In the same house as Myka, even though she had no idea who he was yet.

Not yet.

Crap.

Pete heard her footsteps on the hardwood floor. She came around the corner just as he disappeared behind a nearby bookcase.

She stopped and looked funnily in his direction. A book in one hand, and a mug in the other.

"I hope you don't mind it black." She said.

No answer.

"Mr. Donovan?" She walked closer, nearing the corner.

"Stop!" He shouted, startling her. A bit of the coffee spilled over the edge of the mug. She let out an irritated sigh.

"Uhh... Sorry." Pete said. "I just don't think it's a good idea if you see me."

She walked to the corner. "Why not?"

Pete walked quickly around the other side of the bookcase, she followed him. They went full circle around the same bookcase until she stopped.

"Do you want your coffee or not?" She asked, annoyed.

Pete thought, and that thought brought a headache. He brought his hand to his forehead.

"Yes. Yes. Yeah, I do." He paused. "Just... pass it through the books."

Myka tilted her head to the side, and started to sprint around the bookcase after Pete. They made four full circles before she stopped again.

"Why are you acting like such a child?" She yelled.

Pete smiled. Some things never change.

He stuck his hand through the top of the books.

"Coffee, please." He felt the porcelain thrust into his hand, and some hot coffee splash on his hand.

"Jeez, Myka!" He peered over the top of the books and saw her with crossed arms and a satisfied look on her face.

He sighed, taking his coffee and sitting down against the bookcase. There was less than half a cup of coffee left in the mug.

He heard a sliding sound against the other side, and then a dull thud.

"So, what brings you to this hole of a town, Mr. Donovan?"

Pete thought about it, over a heavenly sip of coffee. "Well... Work."

"Alright." She said, laughing. "Is that why you were passed out drunk in front of the store?"

"I wasn't drunk, Okay? It was just-"

"Hot. Right." She interrupted, sarcastically. "That sixty degree weather is a killer."

They didn't talk for a few minutes. Pete just listened to her breathing. She may have been younger but her breathing was still the same. He wondered whether, if he asked future-Myka about this moment, she would remember him. Probably not. But if she did, she would most definitely make the connection. She's a smart one.

With another sip of his coffee, his thoughts turned again to the cause of all this.

Pete still had no idea. He considered artifacts from the warehouse. There were limitless amounts of objects containing unknown power. Pete could have just been in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong artifact. Some ancient time travel juju could have rubbed off on him. But, sadly, Pete knew that there were not, in all of the artifacts of the Warehouse, any that made time travel possible. He knew because he'd once made a search for a time traveling artifact. That led to Artie berating him, and then lecturing him about how the "fragility of the space-time continuum can't allow for the possibility of time travel." Pete's reason for looking was expected. He'd wanted to see his father again.

His head dropped, feeling sadness. His theories were no good to him here, so far in the past. He needed Artie.

He needed Myka.

Those thoughts just depressed Pete further. He set the mug on the hardwood floor, sighing. He could still hear Bering talking on the phone to some unheard stranger, his voice echoing softly throughout the store. He could still hear past-Myka breathing, followed by the turn of a page.

Pete absent-mindedly rubbed his chest. He could feel the lump of a scar protruding through his shirt, wondering what kind of damage all this physical activity has done to his arteries.

Then it hit him.

"Of course!" Pete shouted. Myka turned around and peered over the books, questioningly.

He was so utterly stupid. How could he have not made the connection? That a bullet fired from an artifact gun, a gun that had unknown power, had done this to him. Artie had said himself; the gun was linked to several disappearances. Maybe the reason they disappeared was that they had simply jumped through time. There is no evidence, and no precedent for evidence.

"Of course what?" Myka asked, with her hands on top of the books, trying to look down on him.

Pete sunk lower to the floor, and replied, "Nothing."

"Bullshit nothing! You don't just yell out 'Of course' for nothing."

"What did I tell you about swearing Myka?" Bering had returned, looking angry.

She stood up quickly, with a bit of fear in her eyes, and walked back over to her chair. "I'm sorry."

Bering said nothing, walking over to the other side of the bookcase where Pete sat.

"You know, we have chairs over there."

Pete stood up, bringing the coffee mug with him.

He handed the now empty mug back to Bering. "Thank you for the coffee Mr. Bering, but I really have to be going."

Bering looked a little confused, as did Myka. "Well, okay. Be careful out there."

"Will do." Pete said, before exiting the store.

He stood out front for a moment,wondering what exactly he was doing. While thinking, he patted his jacket down. He pulled out his sunglasses, and gave a laugh of victory while putting them on. He walked down the sidewalk to his left, not exactly sure where he was headed. Probably to find a taxi. He needed to get to Warehouse 13.

He patted himself again.

"Dammit." He whispered. The cops had left his sunglasses, but Pete had neglected to snatch back his wallet from the interrogation table. Any transportation he would have to pay for was out of the question. He didn't want to get arrested for counterfeiting again, though that would be a good way to get ahold of the Secret Service.

So, with all other ideas out the window, Pete stuck his thumb out to traffic. Who wouldn't pick up a guy in a nice, albeit a little dirty, suit?

"Mr. Donovan!"

Pete recognized the voice of past-Myka. Very similar to future-Myka's voice. It made his heart hurt. He froze on the sidewalk, not turning around.

"You forgot your... whatever this thing is!" She was right next to him now. He had no choice but to turn around.

He was amazed. It was Myka, no doubt about it. He smiled. A few inches shorter, and definitely a few more years to grow, but it was Myka Bering.

She held his cell phone in her left hand. Pete cursed in head head and grabbed it.

"Thank you, Myka. Buh-bye."

He turned back around quickly, but she stayed.

"So, will I see you around here?" She asked, like a little girl with a crush. How Pete would love to tell future-Myka about this.

Pete looked over his shoulder. "I won't be back in this town for a while."

Her head dropped.

"But, I have a feeling I'll be seeing you again sometime in the future."

She smiled. The same as future-Myka. She turned around slowly and floated in the direction of the store.

"About fifteen years in the future." Pete whispered, as she walked away.

"What was that?" She wasn't as far away as he thought.

"Uhh... Nothing. Bye, Myka." He said, a little embarrassed. He started to walk further in the other direction, sticking his thumb out.

His heart beat quickened.

* * *

**I'm thinking about rewriting the first chapter. I need to fix it. I feel like I'm getting into the groove of the story now, and the first chapter just doesn't fit.  
**

**Also I'm not sure about the quality of it. If you saw the number of reads from the first to second chapter plummet, you would know why I say this.  
**

**Any suggestions?  
**

**Anyway, THANK YOU to all who stayed, not only for the second chapter, but the third, and now the fourth!**

**Fifth coming soon. I have more inspiration now!  
**


	5. Twelve Year Ache

**Chapter 5**

The air was icy and bit to the bone on this South Dakota January night. It was by far the worse winter that Artie could remember, and he had been here for more than forty years.

He rewrapped his scarf and exited his red Jaguar. The snow was soft and new, and it swallowed his entire boot as he plunged it in. The car door slammed loudly and echoed in the mountains behind the Warehouse.

As he trudged through the deep snow, he let his gloved hand skim the cold metal of his car. Being one his only hobbies, he cared for his car with enough attention and enough caution that he kept it alive and beautiful for many years. It looked exactly the same as the day he bought it. He was proud.

His hand slid over the headlight and fell back to his side. The door of the Warehouse was barely visible through the blankets of snow that cascaded from the sky. The brown rusty color of its outside walls created a cold, earthy atmosphere that somehow made it more freezing than it already was. He neared the door and, with the familiar hissing sound, it opened into the equally brown and rusty staircase.

He entered his office, shaking off the chills in the incredible warmth of the Warehouse.

Coming early was something Artie was accustomed to. It had been his daily routine for damn near fifty years. This time, and late at night, were what he liked to call his "Me Time". He sometimes used it for research, case gathering, and other Warehouse tasks. But mostly he used the time to read and compose the odd song on his piano.

This was not one of those days, however. The number of artifact disturbances throughout the world was in a slump. It wasn't worrying or surprising in any sense because Warehouse happenings often functioned like its own secret artifact economy. Activity could be up one month then down the next. Artie had long ago learned to go with the flow; consequently, in these down times, he usually increased the time he spent searching for the unusual.

He looked longingly at his piano that sat on the other side of his desk. The urge to just blow off work and spend the morning hours making music was particularly strong today. He'd had an incessant melody bouncing around in his brain since he woke up today. He even hummed a bit of it on the way to the Warehouse.

Artie pushed the song into the back of his mind. He knew he had work to do today.

He took off his coat, gloves, and scarf and sat them next to his computer. He turned on the monitor and sat down.

A quick scan of the night's events held no supernatural fruit for him, as was expected. He would have to dig a little deeper, search for the whispers, rather than the shouts, of artifacts. And if that failed, as much as his agents would moan, there's always inventory to do in the endless expanse of the Warehouse.

Artie wouldn't want them to feel unproductive.

He heard the slam of the Warehouse's front door, and looked over, confused.

"They're here early." He said, amused, and in disbelief. He looked at his watch. 6:02 AM. He laughed away his surprise and turned around, continuing to work.

The door to his office opened with a hiss.

He swiveled back around to greet them. "You're early. I haven't even got to the-"

Artie stared in shock at the man who stood before him. It was impossible. It was Pete.

"Artie!" Pete walked a few steps toward him.

"No! No! NO!" He shouted, and stumbled out of his chair and against his desk, knocking a few items onto the floor. "You're not real. You _can't_ be real. You- you- you-"

"Disappeared?" Pete completed Artie's stuttering sentence. "Yeah, I know."

Pete was a little unnerved as well. Artie looked like he had aged at least ten years. His hair was almost completely grey, and his skin was slightly more wrinkled. Other than that, he was the same Artie he had seen just days prior.

He was covered in snow and freezing. Going from mild Colorado weather to below-zero temperature in the bat of an eye really shocked his system. The only real advantage was that it shocked his system out of the usual post-travel fatigue. He ignored his shivering body, and attempted to think of a way to calm Artie, who was in a state of sheer disbelief.

"I'm real, Artie." Pete said, sternly. "You're going to have to come to terms with that right now."

Artie was still in shock, but he managed to stutter out another half-question. "How- how-?"

"Time travel."

Artie pushed his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose haphazardly. "What? I-impossible."

"Possible... I'm here, aren't I?" Pete asked rhetorically. Artie ran a hand through his greying curls, and sighed, sweat beading on his forehead.

Pete walked closer to Artie and put his hand on his shoulder. "I know it's hard to believe, and I know it might be useless to try and convince you, but it's me. The last several hours have been so completely crazy. I need somebody to help me, and if anybody can, it's you."

Artie lowered his hand, looked Pete in the eyes, and sighed again. He then pulled him into a hug that lasted several seconds.

"It's good to have you back, Pete."

When they parted, Pete grasped both of Artie's shoulders. "I might not be back for too much longer unless we can figure this out."

Artie's hand grabbed the desk behind him. "All right, just let me sit down first, this is a lot to take in."

"I know, I know. I felt the exact same way."

Pete guided Artie to his computer chair that had wheeled across the room when he panicked. He sat with a semi-painful sigh, and regarded the man before him with a speechless gaze.

"I can't believe it." He said, leaning back, then forward again with excitement. "This is incredible! How long has it been for you? A few days? A few hours?"

"I'm not sure. I haven't really been keeping track of time lately. How long has it been for you?"

Artie leaned back again, slowly this time, his excitement fading. "You disappeared twelve years and six months ago." He paused, closing his eyes. "It was really hard on all of us. We tried to go back to normal, we had Claudia and Myka gathering artifacts. But it was never the same around here again... Especially with Myka."

Pete's head dropped. He tried to imagine how hard his disappearance must've been on Myka. He felt sorry for her, and felt a weighty guilt hang itself just above his shoulders; even though he'd had no control over what had happened.

"What happened to her? Is she still here at the Warehouse? Can I see her?" Pete asked the barrage of questions with a guilty and worried look on his face.

"She stayed for a few months, but when she started seeing you-"

"Seeing me?"

"Yeah. Hallucinations caused by guilt, grief. She claimed that it was this place that was doing it to her. So, one day it was all too much. She packed up her bags and left the Warehouse for good."

"Where is she now then?" He asked, the worry died down a little. He was glad that she escaped this place outside of a body bag, or without the help of an insane asylum.

"Claudia and I go to see her sometimes." Pete's ears perked, wondering what 'seeing her' meant. "She lives in DC now. Still protecting the President. We have Mrs. Frederick to thank for that." He paused, looking at Pete's damp suit. "You want some coffee to warm you up?"

Pete felt his worries lessen more, and he accepted Artie's offer with one request. "Do you have cookies?"

Artie smiled his Artie-y smile and got up to grab the thermos and the plate that sat next to it. He also brought back a metal chair for Pete to sit on.

"So, explain to me. How does it work? You know, the time travel." He walked back and handed Pete a mug and a cookie.

"Well," he said between bites, "I don't know all the details, but I sort of just..." He paused, unsure of how to explain it to Artie. "New places just kind of appear. It's all instantaneous. One second I'm walking down the street, hitchhiking, then I'm standing in front of the Warehouse, freezing my ass off." He shivered at the recent memory.

"Interesting. What about these places? Is there any type of pattern, a kind of link between them?"

Pete thought for a second, thoroughly enjoying the cookie. "Now that you mention it, I've always traveled to places I've been to before."

Pete then told Artie the whole story. From Telford to his first unrecognized time travel experience. Then, he told about him waking up in the familiar train yard, and the whole ordeal with the police. He told him about traveling to Bering and Son's and meeting teenaged Myka, a fact which made Artie's eyes widen. He explained with great detail the intense feelings he endured before every jump, and the subsequent lows that followed. He told Artie about his theory that the bullet above his heart was the cause of it. A theory that Artie thought was probably true.

Artie didn't say a word the entire time, just staring at Pete listening intently to every word, and every detail that Pete spat out.

"And then it happened again as I was walking down the street. By then, Myka was already back in the store."

Artie leaned back, having realized he was sitting on the edge of his seat the entire time.

"And then I was dropped here, outside in that ice storm." He said, waving his finger around above his head and taking another sip of his coffee. "Now... here I am."

Pete finished his third cookie and second cup of coffee, and sat back in a huff, as if he'd said his entire story in one breath.

"So, whaddya think, Doc," He said, feeling worlds better. "can you get me back to the future... or past, I guess?"

Artie rubbed his forehead, collecting his thoughts.

"Well, I don't think we're dealing with time travel here."

"What? Are you kidding, Artie? You still don't believe me?" He asked, incredulously.

"No, no, no. I believe you. I just don't think that time travel is the main problem, it's just the most obvious one. Time displacement is more of a side effect in this case, I think."

"Well, I don't follow. Explain it to me."

"I think we're dealing with some kind of emotionally-triggered matter relocation."

The confusion on Pete's face was very apparent. Artie didn't need permission to continue.

"Teleportation, Pete." He explained, getting ready to elaborate further.

"Ohhh." Pete leaned his head on his elbow for what would likely be a long-winded explanation.

"That bullet in your chest is susceptible to your feelings and emotions as much as any artifact in the Warehouse. I think that all the places you've visited thus far are all places where you've felt extreme emotional power. This bullet takes you there."

Pete scratched his head. "I still don't see how time travel fits into this."

"Space and time are both part of the same interwoven fabric. The plane known as the Space-Time continuum. So, when you become displaced in space to travel to wherever, you also become displaced in time, causing you to travel through time."

Pete was beginning to understand. "I see," he paused, thinking, "but, wait, if an emotional memory carries me to a specific point in space, wouldn't I be carried to the point in time when I felt the emotions?"

"Not necessarily. Actually, I'm amazed that you're still in this _century._"

The look on Pete's face begged for clarification, yet again.

"When you deal with space, it is more tangible. You can smell it, taste it, hear it, see it, feel it. Each sense contributes subconscious coordinates for the artifact to use. Time, however, is not that specific. Most likely, the artifact takes you to times around your own lifetime."

"Okay, I get the 'why'," Pete declared, "but now I need the 'how the hell do I stop it?'"

Suddenly, they heard the crash of something behind them, near the doorway.

It was Claudia. Her travel mug had fallen to the ground, and was rolling around, seeping light brown liquid all over the cement floor.

She was twelve years older, Myka's age now (at least Myka as Pete knew her). She had grown into a beautiful woman, but hadn't lost much of her style, or kid-like attitude. She and Artie still got into little squabbles on a daily basis, that had definitely not changed in the ten years, it just got more fair. However, Pete didn't see that side of Claudia at that moment. He saw shock, and speechlessness, very similar to Artie's reaction at Pete's arrival.

Pete was the first to break the ice.

He laughed nervously. "Umm... Hey, Claud. How's it goin'?"

* * *

Mr. Aries looked nervously at his watch. 6:45 PM.

He had underestimated the time it would take to drive all the way from New York to South Dakota. The engine gave an airy growl as his foot pushed the accelerator pedal deeper to the floor. The yellowy landscape flowed by in an ethereal mixture, not allowing him to appreciate the scenery.

He had been told to be at a precise place at a precise time. Being late would mean the entire plan would go to waste. Leona wouldn't like that too much.

She said that she had already taken great risks. Aries could tell that she was still reluctant to put her trust in him. But he had many things to gain from this secret assignment she sent him on. He assured her that he would accomplish this even if it promised death.

He looked at his GPS. He was still a good thirty miles away from his destination, another twenty on this road alone. He was already pushing one hundred miles per hour, the tiny orange needle in the suburban was steadily moving upward. With Leona on his side, he did not have to worry about police or any type of trouble with the law. Aries was overjoyed when she let on that police were told, by some unknown higher-ups, to avoid his route to South Dakota. It was quite liberating to drive as fast as he wanted in the country, without worrying about getting pulled over, and without worrying about the Regents tailing him.

"Please stop." The computer voice spoke.

Aries looked at his GPS. There was not a stop sign in sight. Or even another road.

"Please stop and turn around."

The screen started to flicker, and the computer voice started saying unintelligible things. Aries' paranoia was starting to creep back up from it's hiding place. He unplugged the GPS and threw it in the back seat. He had pretty much memorized the route anyway.

Suddenly, the brakes slammed autonomously. The car was sent skidding and screeching. Aries attempted to correct the car, but it was no use. He just sent it into a spin. The landscape was now a nauseating whirlwind, flashing before him like a golden tornado. The g-forces flung him around in his seatbelt like a rag doll.

The car skidded to a stop after a few spins, leaving Aries dizzy and disoriented. He was breathing hard, in a panicked state, like any man after a car accident. He struggled with his seatbelt, shaking all the while.

It wouldn't release. He attempted to breathe and calm down, to try to unlock the seatbelt like any other normal day coming home from the office. But, it simply would not budge.

"What the hell!" He began tugging at it ferociously, attempting to force it out, but to no avail.

With a heaving sigh, he slammed his head on the steering wheel and stayed in that position for a few minutes, still panting like a dog.

After the adrenaline rush died down, Aries lifted his head.

He froze.

In the rear view mirror, amidst the watery mirage, there was a very familiar and frightening sight. He began to tug on the seatbelt again, his eyes locked on the image reflected in the mirror.

It was the black van.

It had followed him all the way here from New York. And they had kept their distance. Aries howled all manner of foul words as he unleashed himself on the immobile seatbelt. It was getting larger and larger in his mirror. Closer and closer.

"Come on, come on!"

Leona promised. She said they wouldn't be a problem. Aries repeated those two sentences in his head until he could no longer move his arms. He was drained of all energy, and he was never getting that seatbelt to come off. He watched motionless as the vehicle come to a stop right behind his Suburban.

It wasn't a van, but it was black. It was a sleek black sedan, very fancy and expensive.

The door opened, Aries tensed up. A man in a suit got out and began to walk towards Aries. The mirage obscured his identity, but it would not remain obscured for long. He heard the footsteps get louder and closer. The man was coming to his driver's side window, which had opened by itself.

"Gemini." He said, in his version of hello.

"Mr. Valda." Aries fake-smiled. "The name's Aries now, but you already know that, right? Enjoy dragging up old, horrid memories, do you?"

Valda showed no emotion. Except maybe pity. "Sorry we had to take such... extreme measures, but we had to stop you somehow. You got quite the head start."

"You nearly killed me, dammit!"

"No," he said, "_you _nearly killed you. If you hadn't tried to correct it, or, better yet, if you had obeyed your GPS, it wouldn't have been quite so dramatic."

Aries was silent, looking at the road ahead with an expression of hatred.

"So, what was so urgent? Want to talk about old times, or have a friendly chat?" Aries asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Not especially." Valda answered, struggling to remain emotionless around this man.

"Then, I have a job to do. So, kindly, fuck off!" Aries motioned to start his engine, but it wouldn't turn over. He wasn't surprised.

"Sorry. That's not going to work, either." Valda said, projecting his dislike for Aries while somehow remaining physically emotionless. "See, I know about the plan, and what you're on you way to do."

"Leona." Aries whispered, angrily.

"No, not Leona. You are one of the most surveilled men on the face of the Earth. Did you really think we wouldn't find out?"

Aries felt happiness at the fact that Leona was not responsible, while simultaneously maddened by Valda's attitude. "So, what? Are you here to stop me?"

"Unfortunately... No." Valda said. Aries looked at him for the first time. "You see, time travel is an ability, an... opportunity, that is not easily acquired. And as much as you may have wanted to hide it from us, we will not pass it up."

Aries thought about his statement. He wondered it if would endanger his chance to erase his most grave mistake, his chance to remove all of the regret, guilt, and terrible pain of the past twenty years. He would not, under any circumstances, allow Valda to take that chance away from him.

"What about me?" Aries asked, eagerly awaiting the answer.

"If you succeed in your plight, then this entire conversation is moot. And If you don't succeed in changing your past, your record will be wiped clean. No surveillance, no black vans." Valda said, with much apprehension.

"And what about you? What do you want in return?"

"What we want is far more simple." Valda answered, cracking his first, albeit small, smile of the day.

"What is it?" Aries asked.

"You already know." Valda said, pleased.

"Ohh, not this shit."

Valda responded by raising his arm. There was a coin a little larger than the size of a quarter in his hand.

"An interesting little artifact, very useful." He said, twisting it around to look at both sides. "It makes you forget everything I just told you until the exact right moment. The information is buried deep in your subconscious right now, waiting for the opportune time to reveal itself."

Valda had apparently chosen the merciful ability of the coin. One could take an entire conversation and wipe it from a persons accessible memory, and lock it in the person's subconscious. And while the human brain does this naturally. The coin gives one twist. The user could choose a point in time, or a certain set of circumstances, to be the moment of remembrance.

The other ability of the coin is much more manipulative and devious. One could, if so inclined, take his thoughts and plant them in another persons brain, and make it appear as if it were their idea to begin with. That coin could, in fact, be the most dangerous artifact on the face of the Earth. But in the hands of the Regents it was considered "safe".

Not from Aries point of view.

"Why didn't you just make me forget this whole meeting?" Aries asked.

Valda backed away from the SUV and began to walk back to his car.

"And make you forget our happy reunion? Wouldn't dream of it." He said, smugly. He then looked at his watch. "You better hurry up, Gemini. Wouldn't want to miss your opportunity."

Aries waited until the black sedan was completely out of sight before starting his car.

On the long, straight road Aries nearly drove himself insane thinking about what evil plots were seeding in his brain. Or worse, if he would even realize it when the time came.

He turned on the radio to soothe his stressed mind. It was an AM station, playing celtic music, no less. He looked out to the South Dakota landscape and felt the sudden urge to paint. An urge that he had not felt for a long time. He imagined himself painting again. He felt the joy that came with it. The art had come back into his life, and he was rejoicing.

Even Valda couldn't bring him down now. Whatever plans the regents had for him, he didn't care. Leona is allowing him to correct a past mistake in exchange for a job. A job that only Agent Lattimer could help him accomplish.

He smiled a real smile, feeling bits of good feelings seep into him.

For the first time in twenty years, things were finally starting to look up.

* * *

Pete looked up through the crack in the spiraling staircase, and he could see the black figure racing up the steps. Swiftly, he started running up the steps after.

"Pete, I'm in the hotel lobby. Where the hell are you?" Myka's voice chimed in his ear.

Pete held a hand to his ear while he conquered three or four steps at a time.

"I'm on his tail in the staircase. _Huff huff_. This guy is fast, and he, _huff,_ apparently, _huff,_ never gets, _huff,_ tired." Pete was afraid Myka wouldn't understand him through his many huffs and puffs. He tried controlling his breathing, attempting to ignore the burning pain inside his lungs and his legs. During his tenure at the Warehouse, Pete had really focused on improving his cardio after realizing exactly how much time would be spent chasing people, but running a dead sprint nearly a mile from the Wells Fargo to the Ritz-Carlton then up many flights of stairs wasn't exactly in Pete's fitness plan.

"Gotcha. I'll take the elevator, and try to head him off."

"Ten-four."

Pete leaned his head over the railing while he ran. The runner was only a few staircases above him, and he lost track of how many floors they were above ground, but he was sure that there weren't my places left for the culprit to run.

The sound of a slamming door echoed down the stairs.

"Myka. I think he's on the roof. Better take the service elevator."

"I figured, and I did." She responded.

Pete laughed, admiring his partner's intelligence, as he reached for the door.

The LA heat pounded him as he walked onto the roof. The man was nowhere in sight, and it was making Pete paranoid.

The view of the Marina del Rey was quite exquisite from atop the Ritz-Carlton, but Pete wasn't there to admire the scenery.

He held his gun forward, moving silently and swiftly, checking every corner. He moved around various satellite dishes and antennae, searching for the invisible criminal. On the opposite side of the roof there was a vacant helipad, and logically that was the last place to hide.

"I know you're over there. Just come out slowly, and with the artifact in sight."

And, surprisingly, he did.

The offender walked out from behind the helipad, with the antique-looking gun in his left hand.

He was dressed in all black, complete with a black ski-mask. He walked slowly towards Pete, somewhat cautiously, but without fear.

"Hand over the artifact, and I might not have to shoot you."

"Enough with the tough talk, Pete." His voice was gravelly, and cracked. He had a strange accent and a confident tone.

Pete was startled, "How do you know my name? And why are you not listening to me? Hand over the artifact!" He said, more forcefully than before.

"That's not going to happen."

"We'll see." Pete said as he pulled back the hammer.

"No, I mean, it's not going to happen. It's impossible."

At that moment, before Pete could comprehend what was said, the elevator doors opened and Myka came out, Tesla pointed forward.

"Pete!"

He looked over for a fraction of a second, and tried to look back at the masked man, but he knew it was too late. The man had lifted the pistol and shot, with lightning speed and perfect accuracy.

Time slowed down then; Pete saw the bullet travel under his arm and enter his chest. He took a last look at Myka before collapsing.

The masked man had disappeared; and, after a few seconds, so had everything else.


	6. The Overture of The Fixer

**Chapter 6**

"Great Scott, Marty." Claudia spoke softly, a full three minutes after hearing the amazing and enlightening story that Pete told.

"I know! That's what I said!"

Artie chimed in, "Well, you didn't actually say that, you just made a similar reference to..." His voice faded when he realized that no one was paying attention to him.

They all sat in a circle, like they were gathering around a nonexistent campfire, while Claudia took in the shocking tale, along with another cup of coffee, which she downed in two giant gulps. Her face was still pale, and her body still shaking from the encounter with the ghost that was Pete. The coffee seemed to help, but only so much.

Artie would rub her back, and hold her hand, every once in a while. Pete refrained from doing so only because he was unsure about what kind of reaction that it would incite. But, by the time Pete finished his story, he could tell that she was becoming more relaxed; and, therefore, more like the Claudia he remembered.

"Oh, Pete," She spoke, after a few minutes, pausing only to clear a few tears from her cheek. "Leave it to you to get shot by a magical warehouse bullet and get yourself displaced in space-time."

Pete smiled at the fact that she still had the heart for jokes, even though her demeanor and tone shouted the opposite of a jovial mood.

"Listen, young lady," Pete started, enjoying the playful banter after the past hours of stress.

Claudia interrupted, with he finger pointed at him, "Woah, there, chief. We're technically the same age now. Enough with that young lady crap." She rested her forehead on her hand.

Eventually, she sighed, stood up, and held her arms out.

"Is it that time?" Pete asked with a smile.

"It's that time." She replied.

Pete got up and enclosed her still small frame in a giant bear hug, complete with growl. Claudia almost whispered a laugh, followed by a small, soft sob.

Artie watched the scene with a warm feeling, and a content expression, but the more active parts of his brain were searching for a solution to the time travel problem, and the "Artie" part of his brain was slightly agitated and wanted to find a solution before Pete unexpectedly jumped again, and who knows how long it would be before they would see him again, if ever.

The mood in the room had lightened considerably after Claudia and Pete finally ended their hug. They faced Artie, with equally content facial expressions, and behind the happiness was a readiness to focus on the present situation.

"Well." Artie said, pushing his glasses back onto his nose, and finishing his final cookie. "Let's get to work."

Pete smiled the widest he had all night. Everything felt almost normal again, like it was just a routine day at the warehouse. And it was. When the strange happens, the strange must be corrected. Not even twelve years, a ghost, and a magical time bullet could get in the way of the warehouse team at their finest. And that filled Pete with a joy that blew the time travel euphoria out of the water.

Mr. Nielsen stood up, wheeled over his chalkboard, cleared it of all unnecessary items, and turned around to face Claudia and Pete once again.

"We've got to figure out how to get you back to the past, McFly."

* * *

The Fixer appeared out of thin air into the still, icy night. The orange security lights that shone from the large, rusty warehouse in front of him cast an eerie ambient light that seemed to lengthen his shadow ten-fold.

He breathed slowly, and deliberately. The Other was definitely inside. He could feel it.

And The Fixer rarely felt things.

Most of his emotions, and most of the general human restrictions that just served to weigh him down in his previous life, were gone. Even something as essential to humans as "senses".

Sight, hearing, touch, smell, taste. All are nothing but memories to him, memories that were fading fast, and were almost completely gone. After he shed his "mortal" coil, they all combined into some kind of super-sense. It wasn't as horrible and suffocating as one might think. After all, his original senses were just different parts of his body reacting to different stimuli. Now his body just took in everything all at once; or, to use another word, he could perceive everything. It was hard to describe, but thankfully he never received the chance to try.

The Fixer wasn't sure what he was exactly, and he never asked, nor did he want to. But, to ease curiosity, he liked to think of himself as some kind of machine. A very efficient machine that was created for one single purpose.

To fix things.

And, boy, did things need to be fixed.

He had been following the Other since the disturbances began. It might as well have painted a large, red target on Its own forehead for The Fixer to see, given the racket It was causing in the space-time continuum. The Fixer must have taken all of five minutes to find where and when the disturbances were occurring.

He shut his eyelids, and tried to fully immerse himself in his super-sense. But, it was hard to focus with the Other being in such close proximity. It was just inside the warehouse, standing still, and emitting Its sickening energy.

In The Fixer's eyes, the Other was a walking, breathing imbalance; creating waves in space-time, destabilizing not only The Fixer's senses, but the fabric of everywhere and everywhen It went. He could "see" it. He could "feel" it.

The waves passed through him, making him shiver. He actually, physically shivered. It was a sensation that he had not felt before, in this new life at least.

As the waves rolled through him, a small itch began to tear at his insides.

He wanted to do what he did best. He wanted to eliminate the abnormality. He wanted to fix the problem. But, there was also another feeling that The Fixer had never felt before, one that made it difficult to succumb to his most prevalent desire...

Something was telling him to wait. A force deep within him, but greater than him. Like there was a part of him that held a secret or had an important piece of knowledge, yet kept it hidden. At one time, he would have referred to it as a "gut feeling", or "Instinct".

Instinct would probably fit best as The Fixer sometimes felt that he was some kind of beast.

Yes. The Other was causing quite a stir; in the universe, and within The Fixer himself.

He shifted his thoughts from the Other, in an attempt to relax his tightened muscles.

Aside from the Other, there seemed to be a very powerful, and slightly hostile energy emanating from the old warehouse. It was almost enticing. It whispered for him to go inside and stay with it forever. And while it did not interest him nearly as much as the Other did, this warehouse was definitely a living, breathing entity all its own. It deserved to be left alone, and yet it yearned for company. Much like a gigantic, metal parasite. It unsettled The Fixer almost as much as the Other himself. Oh, how much joy The Fixer would feel when this was all over. It almost makes him wish that he had feelings to begin with.

He could feel The Other moving slightly, creating a change in the waves' ripple. After another brief shiver, The Fixer decided that it was time to leave this place and prepare for his next, and undoubtedly more noticeable move.

The Instinct inside The Fixer whispered something else then. And although it was not in any language or even a type of audible communication, The Fixer fully understood its meaning.

_Soon._

Then, he was gone.

* * *

Pete looked to the entrance of Artie's office. The vibe didn't go unnoticed, and whatever it was that caused it was gone. The echoes of it were still reverberating throughout his brain, next to a dulled headache and a grim worry.

Pete's face was tightened in concern, setting him apart from Artie and Claudia, who were a few feet away arguing good-naturedly about how to fix Pete, and using a language that Pete had given up trying to understand in the first five seconds. He could tell that they were excited to have him back, and Pete didn't have the heart to tell them that their time together might end as suddenly as it began.

He looked down at the bump in his shirt, and felt the numb scar tissue with his finger tips. The small wound was caused by an artifact that effectively ruined his life, but despite all of the turmoil, he still remained hopeful.

Were it not for the damn vibes.

Although Pete had gotten used to them, the vibes attacked constantly. They remained like a static roar at the back of his subconscious. A never-ending reminder of the sporadic nature of his condition. But they were, however, some that stuck out from the rest. The vibe that had just ended was one of those exceptions.

He had felt it peak a few times following the beginning of his journey. It had always occured a few minutes after a jump so he attributed it to another after effect. But the most recent was different.

Pete craned his head to look at the digital clock on Artie desk. It read 8:40. He arrived at around 6:30, which meant that he had been here for at least two hours. Which more or less confirmed that the strange vibes were a separate problem from the ones triggered by his time travel issue. Pete looked back to Artie and Claudia.

While the vibes seemed to be a problem deserving attention, Pete decided to keep it from Artie and Claudia, who were already deeply involved with the task at hand. They were still quarreling, but the edge in their voices was obviously caused by a deep concern rather than an everyday disagreement. He'd missed them enough in the day or so he'd been gone. He can't imagine what twelve years must've been like.

"What have you got for me, guys?" Pete spoke, after about twenty minutes of silence.

Artie and Claudia turned around, stopping their arguing for the time being.

"Well, what I came up with-" Claudia began but was interrupted by Artie.

"What WE came up with," Artie continued, with an annoyed glance at Claudia, "is since your jumps are caused by intense emotional stimuli-"

"But my last one, in Salt Lake City, wasn't like that. It just kind of snuck up on me actually." Pete revealed, tugging on his sweat-riddled collar. Artie seemed to retreat back into thought.

Claudia took the spotlight once again. "That means we'll have to work faster and be more careful than Artie and I anticipated."

She then took out a transparent X-Ray photo of Pete's chest. It was slightly dusty and a little discolored, but still readable.

"You still have that?" Pete laughed.

"All in the files, Pete." Artie responded.

"This was the most recent X-Ray of your chest that was taken a couple weeks before your disappearance." Claudia explained, while pinning it on the chalkboard.

"The arterial healing was fantastic. A little scarring, but not more than was expected." Artie continued, pointing at the little dark, round intruder and the areas surrounding.

"Okay, yeah, yeah. Dr. Vanger told us all of this. I was there, remember?"

"To the point," Artie began, sensing Pete's frustration. "We think that, if we can remove the bullet and neutralize it, you'll be stationary."

Pete released a small bit of tension, but it quickly came back.

"Okay, but then how do I get back?"

Artie and Claudia exchanged sorrowful looks.

"We don't know. That's what we've been arguing about for the past hour. Taking the bullet out was the obvious solution to keep you from traveling, but currently there's no other way to send you back without it." Claudia explained.

Artie lightened up a bit. "But, what we can do is take it out, run tests, and possibly find a way to control its power."

_Because that's gone so well before_. Pete thought to himself. He became very discouraged at that moment. Maybe he'll never get home. Maybe he'll have to live out his days displaced, and nomadically shifting in the space-time continuum.

Artie came closer and put a hand on Pete's shoulder. "Don't lose hope. I swear to you: I will do everything I can to get you back where you belong. To the place where none of this sadness will exist." He paused for a moment. "It's quite the incentive, to tell you the truth."

Artie's hand slid from Pete's shoulder, and went back to the chalkboard, staring at the information about the physics of time travel.

Then Claudia came and slid her arm roughly over his neck and shoulders. "Yup, buddy. We got your back."

She coaxed a smile out of Pete. "Good to know."

"So, how are we going to get this bullet out of me?" Pete asked, the thought hitting him suddenly, "I mean, it might be kind of weird to go to Dr. Vanger after 12 years, and-"

"Impossible. Vanger went back to Sweden and started his own practice." Artie interrupted, now facing Pete.

"That's beside the point. We can't go to a doctor, hand him those ancient X-Ray pictures, and tell him to operate, can we?"

Nobody answered.

"Can we?" He asked again, this time genuinely curious, looking at Claudia.

"Most likely." Claudia said. "But, still... the Regents would probably have a hissy, and mess everything up."

She unleashed Pete, and walked over to the door. "Luckily, I've got connections. Unluckily, I left my phone in the car. I'll be right back."

She typed the entry code on the keypad, opened the hissing door, and stopped dead in her tracks.

"Oh my God."

Claudia backed out of the door to reveal none other than Myka.

"Merry Christmas, everyone!" Myka shouted attracting the attention of Pete, who stood loudly from his chair, in total shock.

Myka took in Claudia's surprise with a confused look on her face.

"What's your deal, Claud?" She asked, with a playful smile on her face.

Claudia cast a worried look at Pete.

"Myka?"

Myka looked up, and her smile dropped slowly.

The time travel feelings had crept up by then, and concentration was difficult, but he knew he had to get to her before he jumped. He started to walk over to Myka, as tough as it was.

By the time he got to Myka, Claudia had backed up and away from the doorway, and had stood next to Artie, who was also watching the scene unfold.

Pete reached Myka, and they stood still for a few seconds, taking in each other in a shocked silence.

She had not changed. Twelve years he had been gone, and had Pete not known that fact, he would have sworn that Myka had time traveled with him. Her face was red from the recent cold, and incoming tears, but he knew that she wouldn't let them fall.

In Myka's mind, this was an impossibility. The event that was happening at the warehouse she had left years ago could not be taking place. But in the back of her mind she knew this was not a hallucination.

"Twelve years ago," Myka began, her voice cracking a little, "You told me that you loved me."

Pete nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Did you mean it?"

Pete moved forward to hug her for the first time in what felt like years. The unpleasantness between them before these happenings took place was taking a toll on him that he did not feel until this very moment. But that was all melting away.

He waited for the moment when their bodies would meet in a warm, barrier-shattering embrace.

But his arms collapsed back to his own body. He'd hugged air.

He opened his eyes, expecting, and hoping, Myka to have run away at the last second, not being able to cope with the suddenness of it all, but in the back of his mind he knew the awful, horrifying truth.

The sun was biting overhead, and the heat in his black suit was almost unbearable, in stark contrast to the icy wasteland he'd jumped to before. He looked ahead and met the back end of Leena's Bed and Breakfast. He was still in South Dakota, maybe he hadn't jumped far, Pete reasoned, and even in his thoughts it wasn't convincing.

He was around a football field's length away from the house, standing in the grassy meadow not far behind it.

At that moment, the post-travel fatigue hit him and melded with the horrible feeling of losing Myka, and probably his best chance at returning to relative normality.

Pete dropped to his knees in despair. He felt like he wanted to scream.

"Pete?" Her voice was far away. So much so that he almost didn't hear it.

He looked up to see Myka walking slowly out of the Bed and Breakfast, unsure if he was real or an illusion. Then, he stood up, his hope returning.

"Myka!" He yelled, with his hands cupped around mouth. His hope had begun to return, in bits.

Myka started to run toward him.

"Not a peep, Peter."

Pete felt the muzzle of a gun poking at his back, and the breath of the man curl around his neck, sending a musky, and slightly minty scent into his nostril.

The man then pulled his arm around Pete, revealing a sword. Pete would have recognized that sword anywhere. It was the same sword that he and Myka so fervently pursued, trying to capture it before James MacPherson got his greedy little paws on it.

The sound of the sword slicing the air in half was oddly melodious; and, coupled with the vision of the wavering light in front of him, created an uneasy feeling in his bones.

Pete knew that he and his assailant were now invisible to Myka, even as she came within feet of them.

And he watched in immense pain, as she looked around hopefully, then lowered her head in shame. He could almost see her doubting her sanity. The tears feel freely from her face to the ground.

"Myka, are you alright?" Leena called from the Bed and Breakfast, looking worried.

"I'm fine." She whispered, as if she were talking to Pete himself. Then, she shook her head of all emotion and turned around. "I'm fine." She said again, louder this time so Leena could hear her.

Pete swore he felt his soul leave with Myka's retreating figure, then snap back into him with all the sting and sound of a rubber band, when the door to the house shut.

"Good boy." The man said, the breath smell invading Pete's nostrils again. He sounded excited.

* * *

The Fixer, even with all his knowledge, had not anticipated this. Although he was a being that was capable of seeing all, even with that ability he had not conceived of an outcome so far-fetched.

He let out another deliberate breath, taking in the waves. He calmed himself.

Though this turn of events was surprising, it changed his plan very little. It just added an extra element that The Fixer would have to deal with.

And he was a fantastic multitask-er.

With that, The Fixer pulled his thoughts back to the prevalent situation. He was crouched in a bed of weeds, watching the events at the meadow behind the Bed and Breakfast take place.

The woman had gone. And strangely, the Other was affected by her so powerfully that it caused the space-time waves to increase in frequency and strength. It put much more tension into The Fixer's body than he was used to. The Other's reaction to this woman was another aspect of the situation that he would have to address at a later time.

The assailant's petty disguise was almost laughable. Since The Fixer did not technically perceive light, the reflecting of electromagnetic energy did very little to hide them. Still, The Fixer admired the use of such an amazing device. It most likely meant that the man was of some kind of importance, and whatever this man had wanted from the Other, he would've probably gotten it. Unfortunately, he didn't factor The Fixer in his plans, but then really, how could he have? Humans see very little outside of their own little bubble of selfishness.

He watched as the two men spoke the coined words of an unexpected violent interaction. Who are you? What do you want? Why do you have that sword? With the exception of the last question, it was all pretty standard. The assailant remained silent to all questions.

After a few more unanswered questions from the Other, the assailant had then begun to walk him slowly away.

This would not do.

His Instinct chimed in at that moment. Now was the time. He must intervene.

The Fixer stood up slowly and began to run toward the Other and his assailant.

His footfalls were as silent as a soft zephyr, and he moved with the speed of one. He hadn't gotten this much exercise in a while, and he felt almost exhilarated speeding towards his targets. He stopped just behind them, taking in this moment of control.

Then, he took the two men by surprise, grasping the Other in a firm choke-hold. The assailant barely even had time for a surprised grunt before The Fixer pulled him into an equally firm choke-hold.

How weak these men were. He felt them struggle against him with all of their might. They were trying to yell, but, because of his hold, could not get out much more than coughs and spit.

Then, The Fixer did something he hadn't done in as long as he could remember.

He spoke.

"So sorry about this, gentlemen." His voice was quavery and unused, and it did not contain an iota of guilt, or an apologetic tone.

Still, it made him feel somewhat human.

Then, all three of them disappeared into thin air, leaving only a whisper of a breeze that shook the meadow grass delicately.

* * *

**Some reviews would be appreciated. I hope you will take the time, despite my abandoning of all of you. :)**


	7. Lattimer In Flux

**Chapter 7**

Pete awoke in a strange place yet again, gradually, and without a panic.

"Hello, Peter." It was the voice of his assailant.

The walls of the room were composed entirely of mirrors. Images of himself and his assailant were reflected to infinity on the walls and ceiling. It had a dizzying and fear-inducing effect on his mind, which, he gathered, was it's intended purpose. The room was medium-sized and cube-shaped, with no windows or doors. There weren't even any light fixtures, just some kind of ambient light that emanated from nowhere. He could hear a faint, deep buzzing sound that vibrated the entire room, creating a slight distortion in the mirrors. It gave him a headache.

It was some kind of cell. Though there were no beds, chairs, toilets, bars, or guards, Pete could tell he was imprisoned. He and his assailant were sitting on the floor opposite each other, propped up by the walls.

"What... happened?" It was all Pete could say. The downward spiral had happened so fast, he had trouble comprehending it all.

"I would tell you if I knew." The man had an infuriating smirk on his face that Pete had often seen on criminal's faces during an interrogation. He was completely bald, though some fuzz appeared to be creeping back up. His stubble was almost completely grey and gave him a ragged look. He wore the same black sweater/pants combo that he'd been wearing when he attacked Pete. Both his arms and legs were crossed, appearing to look indifferent and unaffected by the insanity that had befallen them.

Pete found it hard to come up with questions, so he asked a simple one. "Who are you?"

"Edwin Jameson Aries, also known as: Gregory Allan Gemini. Former Warehouse administrator and agent. Good to meet you."

"You're very forthcoming for a kidnapper."

His smirk became larger. "I don't see any sense in being subtle or secretive."

"Why did you attack me?"

"Because I was given a mission by an old friend from the Warehouse."

"And what mission would that be?"

"This is starting to feel like an interrogation."

Pete narrowed his eyes.

"To save you."

"Yeah, right. By threatening me?"

"To save you... and myself."

Pete was oddly unfeeling in this place. His emotions didn't hold as much power over his physical body as much as they did outside of here. He should have been furious. He should been holding this man up against the mirrored wall by his neck and demanding an explanation. But he felt no desire to do so.

"What do you mean?"

"The main objective of the mission was to collect you and bring you back to Regent Headquarters. In the meantime, I was hoping to use your ability to change some unfortunate events in my past. They used my hope to persuade me to do this. " Aries closed his eyes, and sighed. "But I doubt the Regents ever planned on allowing me to succeed."

Pete smirked. "So they sent you to save me."

"Nah. Doubt it."

Pete gave Aries a confused look. "You just said that that's what your mission was."

"They knew that you would be coming. They knew exactly where and when. You could have had a welcome back party. Leona, Agent Nielsen, Agent Bering, Ms. Donovan, and Leena could have been waiting for you. Instead they sent me. They have some sort of ulterior motive. They always do."

"Way to make a guy feel important." Pete looked at Aries' indifferent gaze, which Pete was sure was matched by his. "Who's Leona?"

"You know her as Irene Frederick. She's the one who recruited me into this joyous venture." He said, sarcastically.

It used to make Pete feel sick, the knowledge that there was a group of individuals above him controlling his every move, deciding his fate, playing him like a chess piece. He'd learned to stomach it soon after he'd become a civil servant. However, The Regents had renewed that feeling in him. And, though he still did not trust that strange group of people, he still felt like Mrs. Frederick was the rebel of the bunch, fighting for the little guy. Now, he was not so sure, but he was never one to doubt Mrs. Frederick.

"If there's anyone who can get us out of this, it's Mrs. Frederick." Pete said, hopefully.

"I wouldn't count on it. There are some things that even she doesn't have the clearance to do. I learned that one the hard way." He chuckled. "And, our abductor seems to be a little bit out of her league."

That statement made Pete slightly depressed. Though only slightly. He thought perhaps this room suppressed emotions.

"It does." Said a strange, crackling voice.

The Fixer had appeared unnoticed by both of the men. He'd given them time to adjust to their surroundings before making himself known.

"Supress emotions, I mean." He finished. "It's quite an interesting room."

Both Pete and Aries were dead silent, waiting for this strange man to speak again. He was dressed in an all black tuxedo. Jacket, pants, tie. The whole ensemble. His skin was very pale with the slightest hint of gray. His eyes were either black or the darkest brown. Pete could not tell as he was too far away. His hair was black and medium length, and the bangs hung over one side of his forehead. He was young-looking, and Pete would have guessed his age to be mid-twenties.

"Who are you?" Pete was beginning to feel stupid asking the same questions.

"I am not exactly sure."

"Can you read my mind?" Pete asked.

"Here and there."

Pete ran his hand through his hair. He was having a very hard time focusing, like he was starved of oxygen, like he had been awake for days.

"Why did you take us?" Aries chimed in this time, saving Pete the trouble.

"Because this one," he pointed at Pete, "has been causing some havoc lately. He has made a mess of time and space, and I have taken him to try and fix it." He looked at Aries with suspicion. There was something odd about him. "You were just collateral... Wrong place, wrong time."

They were all silent for a moment, the humming of the room became fractionally louder.

"Then, what are you waiting for fancy pants? Fix me."

"It won't be simple. Fixing requires the utmost care and attention to detail. It's an art really." He sounded smug, and he didn't know where it was coming from. He would love this to be over as soon as possible, so he could return to his normal, silent self. "If I mess up, something not-so-nice will have to happen."

"And what is that?"

"I'll have to take you out of the equation."

Pete was in no mood for metaphor. "Meaning?"

"I'll have to lock you up here for an indefinite amount of time."

"The thought of that makes me as scared as I can be in this place. While we're on the subject, what is this place?"

The Fixer sat down along the other wall beside Aries and Pete. "This is a temporal prison that exists outside of time and space. Anyone or anything brought here is removed from existence."

"That's impossible." Aries chimed in again.

"Yes, completely." The Fixer agreed, leaving Aries looking disappointed. "The universe, to anything inside here, is nothing but a dream. Eventually even that will slip away."

Pete collected himself. Once you cleared the haze, the temporal prison was a surprisingly good place for clarity of thought. "Okay. Where do we start?"

"Every situation is different. Bear with me while I explain."

Pete nearly groaned, while Aries straightened, ready to listen.

"The artifact inside your chest, Peter, has linked itself to you, made a connection. A connection that has displaced you in space-time."

"I went through this with Artie at the Warehouse already. Emotions, time-travel, blah, blah."

"Arthur Nielsen. A brilliant man. But, he only knows a small part of the situation."

Pete got upset after he mentioned Artie. His "normal" life seemed so far away. Myka, Claudia, Artie, Leena, the Warehouse. Pete's current problems seemed to tower infinitely over the problems of his everyday life at the Warehouse. He prayed that he would make it back in one piece to live that life again.

The Fixer continued, "He theorized that you are displaced temporarily and replaced in another time. But, in reality, you have been displaced ever since the moment the bullet entered your chest. In fact, displaced isn't even the right word. More like 'out of sync'."

Pete nodded. Things were making less and less sense, but he decided just to nod and listen.

"And as a result of you being out of sync, you have been disrupting the temporal plane, creating waves of destructive energy. You are a walking error in the constitution of the universe, and a contagious one at that. Everything and everyone you have touched or interacted with in any capacity since you got shot has been disrupted on a fifth dimensional level. This has added significant amounts of energy to the disturbance. Eventually, time and space will be nothing but a chaotic mess of fluctuating energy."

Pete was utterly lost, and his face showed it.

The Fixer reiterated in layman's terms. "Imagine our solar system. A star with a few planets surrounding. And you are a black hole. As you near the planets, you pull them off of their natural courses, essentially ruining the organization of the solar system. Now, imagine that every time you alter something from it's natural course you grow bigger, and therefore affect more and more planets, and solar systems. Eventually you would engulf the entire universe. Get it now?"

"A little. Thanks." Pete said, with a tiny, embarrassed smile.

"Now you see why I have to be quick to fix this. The fifth dimension becomes very... volatile once you have the means to actually mess with it."

"What about you? Why aren't you affecting the fifth dimension? You're also a time-traveler, are you not?" Aries had been silently contemplating The Fixer since he'd first laid eyes on him. Though he knew he might not ever know who or what this man was, he felt a need to prod for any information he could get. Being a former agent, he was accustomed to presiding over everything that was impossible or beyond imagination. What this man and this place represented was something beyond the Warehouse, beyond the impossible. It both intrigued and frightened him. There was also something else about the Fixer that bothered him, but it was too deep-seated for him to comprehend it. He looked at the Fixer's stoic expression and waited for an answer.

"I'm like this place. I exist outside of reality. Or I guess you could say I don't exist at all. In fact, only those who are here in this prison, or who are out of sync, like Pete, can even perceive me. In other words, I can only affect those that need to be fixed."

The Fixer paused for a moment before talking. "Now, first thing's first, Pete stand up."

Pete hesitated for a moment before standing up to meet the Fixer in the center of the room. He began feeling Pete's chest with his hands.

"You know, I'm flattered, but I only let people who exist get to second base." Pete quipped.

The Fixer ignored him and continued to massage Pete's chest with his hands.

"Okay, this is getting creepy, what the hell are you doing?"

"I want to see the cause of all this." He stopped, placing one hand above Pete's heart. "This might pinch a little."

The Fixer took a deliberate breath and pulled his hand back sharply. Pete closed his eyes and braced himself, expecting the Fixer chop open his chest and take the bullet out of his chest bare-handed. He opened one eye. The Fixer was just standing there with his open palm about one foot away from his chest. He relaxed for a second until he began to feel a strange poking in his chest.

"Whoa. Ouch. OW! WHAT THE F-!"

The poking turned into a full-fledged stabbing pain. After a few seconds of utter terror, the pain stopped. He looked down at his chest. Floating about three inches from his chest in mid-air was the little lead nugget that had cause him so much misery. Pete gave an exasperated chuckle and went to poke it. It then fell right into the Fixer's open hand.

"One of the perks of being me: you can do things that other's can't do." He held the bullet in front of his face with one eye closed.

Pete took off his jacket, button-up, and white t-shirt, and looked at his bare chest. There was no opening except for the healed scar that was already there. "That's freaky, man." He looked up and the Fixer was gone.

He eyed Aries, who hadn't moved the entire time they'd been in the cell. "Where'd he go?"

Aries just shrugged. He closed his eyes and focused on the buzzing sound that came from nowhere. He felt more comfortable here than he had anywhere on Earth. He chuckled at that last thought. 'On Earth'. For all he knew he was still on Earth. The little trick with the bullet was hard to deny though, and the disappearing act. He decided to let it rest, and just rest his eyes for a bit.

Pete put on his t-shirt. He didn't bother with the jacket and the button-up because he was beginning to feel very stuffy wearing the same suit for... two days? Three days? He sat back down in his spot, and relaxed for a moment, really relaxed. The Fixer never said it, but Pete was pretty sure that "temporal prison" meant "no time traveling". It was a real load off of his shoulders.

He thought about Myka. He thought about how much loved her, and how much he missed her. He thought about the twelve-years-older Myka, and how much suffering he put her through until she left the Warehouse for good. In the two seconds before she noticed him in the Warehouse earlier, she seemed happy. Did she have a husband? Children? Had she moved on? Would allowing the Fixer to solve the problem take all of that away? In trying to relax, he'd only created more things for him to be unrelaxed about.

Suddenly, the Fixer reappeared, and Pete stood back up quickly.

"So, what's the deal, am I fixed?" Pete asked, excitedly.

"Of course not. Even thought the stimulus that caused it is gone, you're still out of sync." He said, while handing Pete a small vial containing the evil bullet. "I do have some good news though. Now that it's out of your body, it is no longer susceptible to your heart rate and therefore your emotions. I think now you can control the artifact."

Pete jingled the little grey nugget in its glass prison before saying, "Cool. So now I can go back to my own time and everything's okay?"

"Again, no. You're still out of sync which means you're still a walking error and you can still destroy the universe. The only way to fix you is to find an event, probably one of the single most important cosmological events ever. A choice was made somewhen in time, and we have to reverse it. Only that one single choice is in flux. Only that one single choice has the power to fix. "

Pete was blank-faced, and somewhat awestruck. "Fixing sounds hard."

"Hard is what I do best."

Pete sniggered.

* * *

"_Myka, I need you to listen to me because this is very important."_

"_Go ahead."_

"_I know you're scared, and so am I. But this could possibly be our last chance..._

_...I need you to close your eyes, and breathe out."_


	8. Something Wrong

**Chapter 8**

Leona's heels tapped crisply on the cement floor as she entered the testing room.

All machines that entered this room were state-of-the-art and practically figments in the imaginations of the current computer scientists in the year 1986. Pieces of unknown or new tech were brought in one at a time to be gone over with a fine-tooth comb by the best minds the Regents could offer. Those same minds sometimes re-purposed that tech for use in the Warehouse itself.

The current occupant was the new main console to be used in Warehouse 13. At this time, it was undergoing rigorous testing and being fitted with the most powerful security measures known to man. In the next few years, the world's networks were going to be joined together to create the "World Wide Web," as the Regents called it, and they spared no expense in designing numerous measures to protect the Warehouse. One of those measures was this console.

Leona eyed the sleek, aluminum-cased monitor and the large, matching tower sitting to it's right. Very shiny and futuristic looking. She laughed to herself. Artie had just been promoted to the, for lack of a better term, "manager's position" of the Warehouse, and he was one to appreciate the rustic, ancient look of the current system. He would fight this new technology with all of his might, and he would probably succeed. Leona would be on his side as always. For Artie's sake, and for her belief that there was some kind of connection between the Warehouse and the user through that old machine. Like the ancient computer was an artifact itself.

She touched the mouse and the monitor sprang to life with a soft buzz.

As the picture faded into sight she could make out the words

_WHO IS LEONA?_

in big bold type, atop a large, blurry, black-and-white photo depicting a silhouetted figure with its arm outstretched and bolts of electricity cascading outward from a strange looking gun. The words screamed at her from the badly-scanned copy of the front page of The New York Times.

Every copy of every newspaper in existence was stored in the massive Warehouse databank, and someone had been looking at this one. Hell, everyone had been looking at this one since the story broke two days ago. She looked at the screen disapprovingly before shutting the monitor off once again.

The door opened.

"Hey, Leona... um... I mean Irene." Said the voice.

Leona turned. "Gemini." She greeted him a look of genuine surprise on her face, which she quickly hid. Gemini didn't seem to notice. "You don't have to call me Irene. It's merely a formality."

"Maybe I'll get used to it." He smiled contently, walking over to the desk on which the lone computer stood. He eyed it with a skeptical gaze similar to Leona's. "Next gen, huh?" He laughed. "Good luck getting Nielsen to agree to this."

He touched the mouse and the monitor buzzed to life, yet again. He looked at the newspaper for a moment, before turning his head toward Leona with an apologetic look on his face. "It was bad luck. And that guy would've hurt a lot of people."

"What did you need me for, Gregory?" She ignored his last statement, not in the mood for a replay of what had happened.

"Nielsen got a hit in a warehouse in Chicago. Some kind of magnetic disturbance. Terry, Hodge, Linda, and I have to leave ASAP."

"And what does this have to do with me?" Leona said, getting slightly impatient.

"Well... I don't know exactly. Weird feeling, I guess." He murmured, scratching the back of his head.

"You've been at the Warehouse long enough to know what it does to your head." She said, telling him what he should have already known.

Gemini shrugged, unconvinced. "It's just been the past two weeks, though. Before the fight with Ben." He paused, reliving the bad memory. "I feel very strange. Like something in my gut is telling me something is very wrong. I was hoping you could help me out. My head's not in the work."

"Why don't you talk to your partners?"

"That's part of why I feel strange. It's like I don't know them anymore."

Leona gave a look of stern concern, similar to that of a therapist doling out helpful advice. "Maybe you need a vacation, Gregory."

Gemini laughed half-heartedly, and relaxed somewhat.

Leona straightened herself and began to walk to the door, feeling satisfied with her words and itching to get more important work done. "I'm sorry, Gregory, I have to go convince a few more intrepid reporters against digging where they shouldn't be."

"They saddled you with the clean-up, huh?"

"It would seem so."

Gemini turned on his heels to watch Leona go, and then leaned against the desk. Just as she was about to cross the threshold into the Warehouse, another man met her in the doorway.

"Ben." She said, with the smallest hint of dislike hidden behind a veil of professionalism. Benedict Valda wore a cleanly pressed suit that seemed to shine in the Warehouse light, and a very expensive watch that shined even brighter.

They stared at each other for a moment.

"If you'll excuse me, I have somewhere to be." Leona stated, calmly. Valda moved out of the way without a sound and allowed her to pass.

Gemini stood up straight and prepared for something bad to happen. Valda walked in with a smug look on his face and an unknown intention. He put both hands in his pockets and continued to stare at Gemini, enjoying watching him squirm.

Things had always been like this between Gemini and Valda. A mutual and enduring disdain from the moment they laid eyes on each other. There was no reason for it that either could discern, and neither of them had tried. It was just hate at first sight. That and, during their first case together two weeks ago, they ended up trading blows, and were temporarily banned from working a case together.

The metal door closed with a hushed click. Valda gave a quick inhale through his nostrils and pulled his right hand out of his pocket. In his palm was a coin a little larger than the size of a quarter. It seemed to glow, reflecting light that was not there.

"It's an interesting little artifact. Very useful." He said with a smile.

Suddenly, a wave of nausea erupted within Gemini. The unpleasant feeling went away and was replaced by a feeling of extreme relaxation and comfort, like he was in the state between being awake and being asleep. He could barely focus on standing let alone the words spoken by Valda.

"You will accompany your team to Chicago, and act as you normally would. When you reach the building, you will make sure that everyone else enters first. When you reach the doorway, you will stop," he paused, reveling in the moment, "and you will run away. You will run as fast as you can. You will never question why. You will go to the motel nearby, and request room 523. You will wait there."

Valda stopped, put the coin in his pocket, and regarded Gemini. He had a blank, dumb-struck look on his face. He took a second to admire the control he had over him. Absolute control. He then lifted his hand.

"Oh, and I was never in this room. You never saw me." Valda then snapped his fingers, and Gemini appeared to snap out of the trance induced by the artifact. Valda took the opportunity to exit the room, and made his way to a more cozy room at the Bed and Breakfast, where he would wait for some very bad news.

* * *

"Hello!" Pete yelled into the dry vacuum of the desert. "Hellooooooooo!" He listened to the vowel stretch out and expand until it could no longer sustain itself.

The mirror cell had disappeared around him, and in an instant he had been dropped in a hot, flat wasteland. Pete thought that he should be used to the feeling by now, but surprisingly he wasn't. It was jarring not only to the mind, but the body as well, being transported instantaneously from one place to another, and the body is fragile. Artie told him that the pleasure and energy he felt pre-travel was caused by a very large spike in dopamine and adrenaline, while the nightmarish post-travel feelings were caused by the subsequent crash, as well as the shock of the body being subjected to instant changes in temperature and pressure. Artie also mentioned that another concern was the effects of a very active adrenal gland on Pete's long-term health. It seemed like the least of his problems then, but now that Pete was alone in a desert, he began to worry about statistically improbable malignant tumors appearing in his abdomen.

The ground was laden with cracks and crunched beneath his every step. Pete decided to tell himself that he was in the Mojave, but for all he knew he was in the Outback. What kind of sick game was this freak playing? Pete asked himself. It had been twenty minutes since he'd been dumped here, and there was still no sign of a rescue.

Pete yanked his wrinkled shirt from out of his pocket. He'd left his jacket in the cell, but he decided to keep the shirt just in case he had another ass-freezing incident outside the warehouse or elsewhere and needed some warmth. He never thought it would be the heat from which he would protect himself. He wrapped the torso and sleeves around his head, leaving a small window for his eyes to see through; and, although the temperature drop wasn't significant by any stretch, he could feel a difference.

Pete looked above him. The sun was almost directly overhead, too early to tell directions from it. He lowered his eyes to the mountains in the distance. They looked like very faint etchings on a blue canvas, so unreal and unreachable. But they were the only thing keeping this desert from being an infinite blue and yellow sandwich.

"Great. Now I'm hungry." Pete whispered, followed by a groan.

"Well, that'll have to wait."

Pete whirled around to see the Fixer and his former assailant standing there. Aries stifled a laugh at the image in front of him: a man with a shirt wrapped around his head, wearing nothing else but a dirty white t-shirt and black suit-pants.

"Yeah. Yeah. Keep laughing. But I don't think you'd do too well out here either, Baldy." Pete responded, voice slightly muffled by his shirt. "So, what's the deal? Why'd you dump me here?"

The Fixer pulled his hands out of his pockets, went over to Pete, and draped his arm around him. Together they walked closer to Aries. "This may surprise you, but traveling with you is like trying to hold onto a bar of soap in a tidal wave. Having this guy around doesn't help either." He pointed at Aries, who responded with a raised eyebrow.

"But did it have to be the friggin' Outback, for chrissakes?"

"Actually this is the Mojave desert fifty years, three months, four days, five hours, thirty-five minutes, and 34... 35... 36... 37... seconds from the moment you disappeared in the alleyway." The Fixer had recited the times with an out-of-focus look on his face, like he was consulting his internal clock, which Pete knew now was way more accurate than his own. "And no it didn't. It was just the luck of the draw, I'm afraid."

"So, where are we actually gonna go?" Pete asked frustratedly, while shaking off the Fixer's arm.

The Fixer contemplated this question. Usually when he fixed things, there was the guiding light of his Instinct._ But around this man_, he thought, casting a suspicious gaze toward Pete, _around this man, there's nothing. _

It was true. The cozy little spot in the back of his head that his Instinct usually occupied with its thoughts was empty. He could still feel its presence though, humming to itself in the dark corners of his mind. It just wasn't helping him. Of course, he knew why.

The Instinct was ingrained in every part of him, so whatever affected the Instinct, affected him doubly so. Ever since the Other appeared on his map, there had been something different about his Instinct. It was especially curious about this particular man. But what was curiousity before, turned into some kind of aversion after. It was something different before, now it was something very wrong.

"Can we please go now?" Aries asked impatiently, with both of his hands covering his hairless scalp. He'd become paranoid over what Pete had said.

The Fixer nodded curtly, his Instinct still humming away in the background, softened like it was encased in a porcelain shell. He decided that his urge to fix was stronger than his Instinct. He would go it alone on this one, and he would succeed.

At that moment, the porcelain shell cracked open just enough to hear one word from his hermit friend.

_Run._

Then, it snapped up again. It was just as silent as before, if not even more. With one word, the Instinct had turned on the faucet of human emotion that had been blocked for so long. The Fixer betrayed none of the feelings, however unexpected and unfamiliar, to his companions. Instead, he just walked between the men and grasped them both in a firm choke hold, mirroring their first meeting.

"So sorry about this gentlemen, but it was much easier getting around with you two like this."

They disappeared in a puff of wind that quickly went away and was never heard from again.

* * *

Irene Frederick looked serene as she peered from her Chicago high-rise that served as her office. But she was far from serene on the inside.

It had been two months since the disappearance of Pete Lattimer, and one month since the official disappearance of Edwin Aries. They had occupied her thoughts every waking moment before, but now they appeared only when she had time to herself.

What a colossal mistake she had made. She had known where Pete would appear next, and she used that knowledge to help a friend. She should have collected Pete and then it would have been over. Now both of them are gone and she's to blame. What a colossal mistake she had made.

She had put her personal feelings before her responsibilities and paid for it.

Frederick turned away from the window and walked to her desk. On the table were printed copies of the weekly agent evaluations she'd asked Artie write up for her in the wake of Pete's disappearance.

Over the last two months, Claudia Donovan had made improvements as an agent, and had recovered relatively well. She, of course, had her bad days, Artie noted, but her natural Claudia self always prevailed. She was on her way to normality. The same could not be said for her partner.

Myka appeared to go from shocked to depressed to near-catatonia during the first few weeks after Pete's disappearance. After the first month she began to recover, but she was not the same. Her performance in the field dropped significantly, which in turn put much of the burden on Claudia, which was probably why she excelled. When not in the field or doing inventory, she spent most of her time, alone and silent, in her room at the bed and breakfast.

Artie's tone in Myka's evaluations, unlike Claudia's, is sombre and mildly despairing. He expresses his worry about her mental health and recommends, in his professional opinion, that Irene begin looking for a replacement. Frederic could almost read the hesitation before the sentence, although there was just as much space as there was in between every other sentence. Though on paper there was nothing to indicate it, Irene could tell that typing this sentence killed a little bit of Artie.

He'd grown very close to the two agents, and losing both of them at essentially the same time was hard. But Irene still had faith in the man who'd already endured enough hardship for one lifetime. He would survive this.

She would not begin to look for a replacement until Myka asked to leave herself. As bad as her performance was it was still relatively above average. Though her mental state was ambiguous at best, she was still one of the best agents in the United States, and she deserved a chance.

She sorted the papers according to date and agent, and filed them away in their respective folders. Artie's next reports were due in two days, and she was hoping for improvement.

Frederick swiveled her chair to face her computer.

This computer was a software equivalent to the one at the Warehouse, but the exterior was far more modern, "not as steampunky" as Claudia would have described it. Each Regent had an identical computer, and each computer was connected to the Warehouse at all times. She scoured through the few pings, and the assessed risk associated with each. If there are many high-risk situations, she confers with the other Regents and tells Artie which to deal with first, but usually she leaves it up to him what to do with his agents. She mostly uses the computer to check on the status of the Warehouse, the artifacts, and the various systems.

Just as she was about to deactivate and head out to her scheduled meeting with the other regents to discuss Warehouse matters, including the mental status of the agents, a message popped up on the screen, with a two-tone melody, declaring:

NOTICE: AREA MP-001 HAS BEEN OCCUPIED!

She just stared at the screen for a moment before springing to life with clicks and scrolls. She opened the astronomical map of the Warehouse and pulled up a text box:

ENTER COORDINATES

She typed with lightning speed, and hit enter.

The map moved slowly at first, then quickly, then slowly again as it neared its target. The blurred rows rushed past on the screen revealing a darker, more sinister looking corner of the Warehouse.

The map stopped on a perfectly square crate. About 20 feet thick, it looked like any old crate in the Warehouse, though on the large side. A row of thirty identical crates surrounded it on all sides. A red light on the computer screen indicated one near the center of the huddle. In the corner of the crate was a small yellow "!" indicating a message or disturbance associated with the artifact. She hesitated for exactly three seconds before moving the mouse to click on it. She held her breath.

NOTICE: AREA MP-001 HAS BEEN OCCUPIED!

She left the mouse and computer behind as she walked across the room to the phone. She hit speed dial number 1. In a serene silence once again, she reoccupied her spot by the window, phone tucked neatly beside her ear.

The receiver on the other end lifted and she didn't wait for a greeting.

"Kosan, call off the meeting. We have a situation."


	9. Regression

**Chapter 9**

Aries and Pete appeared out of thin air and collapsed huffing and puffing into the cement floor. The Fixer appeared a few seconds afterward landing gracefully on his two feet with a light clack of dress shoes hitting the floor.

Aries sat up, rubbing his neck with his hand. "What the hell!" He shouted hoarsely.

Pete stood up quickly and grabbed the Fixer by the lapels. He ran him toward the wall, intent on beating the answer out of him; but, just before his back hit the cement, the Fixer disappeared and Pete got a fistful of pain as he collided with the wall.

The Fixer reappeared behind him. "Was that really necessary?"

With an angry grunt, Pete recoiled, seemingly unaffected by the earlier pain, and swung multiple punches at the Fixer, who dodged them without much effort. The Fixer, due to his new-found emotions, found that he was getting quite annoyed.

The Fixer caught the next punch in a steely gray grip, stopping Pete cold.

The feeling of all the momentum from his punch reverberating back through his arm and shoulder left Pete paralyzed just long enough for the Fixer to pull Pete's arm behind his own back. Pete felt his shoulder strain to the point of dislocation, but the Fixer backed off at the last second while still holding his arm firmly.

"Try to punch me again, and I will leave you on the surface of the Sun."

Pete breathed deeply, yet remained silent. The Fixer released him, and he staggered forward a few steps.

By this time, Aries had regained his composure to some degree, and was in the process of standing up when he asked, "Where and when the hell are we now?"

"We are in an unoccupied warehouse in Boston. April 1998." The Fixer said, while readjusting his tuxedo. "I figured we'd need somewhere a little more comfortable to get our thoughts together."

"Ah, yes. Nothing says comfort like soft, fluffy cement." Aries huffed while trying to shake the fog from his head.

A few feet away, while attempting to cool off after getting his ass handed to him, Pete took in new surroundings for what seemed like the millionth time. It was an entirely empty warehouse floor with nothing to see but gray cement and white windows that dominated three out of the four walls. The room was football-field-sized, and the abandoned nature of the building made it seem colder than it actually was. Though it could have been that cold. It _was_ April. Though Pete couldn't quite recall the average temperature of Boston in April of 1998. Myka probably would. Pete's lips curled up into a sad, little smile. He shook his head of these thoughts and focused on the matter at hand.

After producing his best angry stare, Pete turned toward the Fixer. "Can we actually do this thing now?" _I want to get home. _He didn't say the last part out loud, but he was sure that the Fixer heard it.

The Fixer looked Pete in the eyes, and after a few seconds said, "I don't want to lie to you, Pete."

"What do you mean?" The anger lessened now, but it was replaced with a bad vibe.

"I don't know if I can fix you. I honestly don't." He said softly, betraying his new emotions.

Pete's head dropped ever-so-slightly. This man, or whatever he was, had appeared with all of this incredible knowledge and all-powerful abilities, and given Pete some kind of hope. Now, even _he_ had doubts. Through this journey he had never felt as hopeless as this moment. Perhaps a close second to the moments after his recent encounters with Myka.

He mustered up the courage to ask: "Why not?"

"I don't even know why I'm going to tell you this, but here goes nothing." Pete's head raised in anticipation, even Aries interest was piqued. "I don't know who or what I am. All I know is that I have to fix things that go wrong in time. I don't know why I know that. I don't know a lot of things. The only connection I had to any kind of knowledge was through here." He pointed to the back of his head.

Pete's head tilted in confusion. "Your head?"

"Yes."

Even Aries looked a little confused.

"I hear a voice," The Fixer started, "in my head."

Aries piped up, "Hearing voices, huh? Oh, so you're crazy. That's reassuring."

"Not voices. Just one voice. It tells me everything that I do not know. Like where to find you." He pointed at Pete. "It tells me everything about you. It tells me how to fix you." He paused. "Or _told_ me how to fix you. It directed me. It steered me in the right path. It told me when to act, and when to stay hidden. When to go, when to remain. It knew... everything."

"Like the voice of God." Aries whispered, ashamedly affected by the Fixer's words.

"Exactly," he said. The two men stared at each other like they had reached some kind of understanding. Pete watched them awkwardly until the moment passed. "But now it's gone."

"Gone?" Pete repeated, louder than he wanted to. The Fixer nodded.

"It left when we traveled from the mirror prison. But it started the moment I detected you. It never said anything, but it was nervous. I could feel it. Something about you, Pete. Something about you drew it to you, and, in turn, drew me to you. You were no ordinary fix and it knew."

The vibe that enveloped Pete now was an ultimatum: figure something out now, or there will be consequences.

Pete gathered his thoughts. "So, you had this voice in your head. This instinctual guide, right?" The Fixer nodded again. "And now it's gone. What do we do?" Pete's father had used this tactic often. Relay all the problems succinctly and ask the question. It was no-nonsense maneuver and helped people think outside of their emotions for a moment.

The Fixer took a deliberate deep breath, and regained some of his former composure.

He then proceeded to sit down and crisscross his legs. Although confused, the others followed in suit. The Fixer seemed to be all business again, and Pete was proud of himself. "There are three options at this point."

"Great. Let's hear them."

"First, we could remove you from existence forever."

"Okay. Not so great, but we're thinking, right?" Pete said, with a bit of fear in his eyes.

"Second, we could ignore it and let the universe get destroyed."

"Again, not so great. Let's try for one where I don't get killed and/or removed from existence, alright?"

"Or, finally, we could solve this ourselves without the help of my Instinct. We'll fix you manually, so to speak."

This was more along Pete's lines. "Okay, that's more like it. That's what I do best. Solving mysteries. Snag, bag, tag. We can do this. We don't need your all-knowing instinct, right?"

The Fixer didn't look too convinced, but he nodded. "Right."

Aries had heard enough, and seen enough. He just wanted to return to his empty, white apartment and get back to his nightmares. "Right. I'm leaving. This is completely ridiculous." He said, standing up. "When are we? Ninety-eight?" He began to walk towards the only door in the room. "This will be fun! Imagine all the havoc at Regent Headquarters when they find out there's two of me!"

The Fixer appeared in front of him, blocking his path. "You're not going anywhere."

Aries tried to side-step him. The Fixer followed, blocking him again. Aries breathed a laugh and twitched up a small smile before making a break for it. He made it about ten feet away before the Fixer reappeared and punched him square in the chest, sending him back at least twenty feet. He hit the ground with a thud and skidded to a stop. After a moment, he let out one raspy cough, an unintentional signal to Pete that he was still alive. Pete walked up to Aries' sprawled body, grabbed his hand and lifted him into a wobbly standing position. Then, Aries promptly threw up his meager dinner of microwaved Indian food.

Pete patted him on the back. "Looks like you're in this as much as me, buddy."

Aries sighed, still hunched over. "Fuck you."

* * *

Myka hugged air. She opened her eyes to see the shocked faces of Claudia and Artie. Pete was gone. Again.

She backed up into the door and slid down into an uncomfortable-looking seated position, the rough metallic texture scratching her coat as she did. The empty space which had been occupied by Pete just a moment ago was sucking all the air out of the room like a the black hole at the center of a galaxy. She couldn't breathe.

It had been many years since she felt this way.

"_He looked so real, Leena." Myka whispered, the tears running freely. She was balled up on the couch, her face hidden behind her knees, and her arms tied tightly around her shins. _

Myka was in the same position, figuratively and literally, as she was that day. The last time she ever saw Pete. The day she left Warehouse work for good.

Neither Artie nor Claudia could imagine what she was feeling at this moment. They could try, but they would never succeed. Pete and Myka were partners; and, although it was only for two years, they formed a bond as strong as the steel girders that supported this massive Warehouse of pain and suffering. A bond that neither had expected, and that had been practically forced upon them by the Powers That Be, but a bond nonetheless.

When that little chunk of lead invaded Pete's chest, Myka had tried to distance herself in an futile act of desperation. She was afraid of the bond, and what the consequences might be when that bond was inevitably broken by someone or something out of their control. This, she would repeat to herself during many restless nights, was her biggest mistake.

During his funeral, she cried, much to her own surprise. After all, it was just a funeral for a box full of air, a further reminder of the awful truth. The truth that he had disappeared for no reason, and that she had no idea whether he was dead or alive, in heaven or in pain.

The recurring nightmare she had was of her and Pete having a jovial, babbling dream conversation when a smarmy-looking man in a black suit approaches them. Myka becomes instantly suspicious, though Pete just ignores her. The man asks Pete to follow him away from there, and Pete happily obliges. As they slowly disappear into a dark mist, laughing all the way, a feeling digs its way into Myka. She is never going to see Pete again. She screams for him with whatever is left within her, but nothing comes out; she feels her vocal chords move, but no sound escapes. The echoes of laughter remain long after the men that made them fade away, leaving Myka a broken mess waiting for the slowly-approaching dark mist to engulf her as well. Eventually it does, and Myka wakes in a cold sweat, crying more tears into her already tear-stained pillowcase.

Those weren't the bad nights though. Sometimes she woke up screaming.

She never married, and had not even had a serious relationship apart from the many handsome strangers she would bring back to her apartment. She would empty a few whiskey glasses and exchange some empty words with these faceless, nameless men. And then together they would retire to her bedroom in a lustful stupor. These relationships often ended the next morning when she would scoot them out the door in a professionally cold manner. As a particularly harsh touch, she would wake them up while adjusting her gun holster for the day's use.

During those years, she kept contact with her former team by phone, mail, and e-mail. They would ask how she was, and she would reply fine. They would ask about work, she would say it was going great. She would ask about Claudia's new husband and child, and Claudia would beg her to come visit. Myka would create some excuse about being busy.

Because visiting Claudia would mean visiting Univille, which would mean visiting Leena's, which would eventually mean visiting the Warehouse. That, Myka could not fathom.

But after a few years, her love for Artie, Claudia, Leena, and everyone else won over her fear and hatred for the Warehouse. She returned. She visited as often as she could. The hole she had walked around with for years was at least partially filled.

The first time they talked about Pete was the hardest. Many tears were shed and a lot of wounds were reopened, but in the company of her loved ones, the wounds, while not quite healed, became less painful. Pete was no longer this sore topic that was absolutely off-limits.

Her journey to relative normalcy was almost complete. She let her workaholic tendencies die, and made more room for her Warehouse family as well as her real family. And, at Claudia's and her mother's urgings, even created an eHarmony account, which Myka was very skeptical of. Claudia would hack it every now and then, and pester Myka with calls about all of the matches. She would respond with a polite 'maybe' and then change the subject. She still couldn't quite let go of her preference for casual encounters, a fact that no one else knew. As long as it didn't affect work or her family, she figured it was not that important. But when one of her prospective "dates" got a bit too grabby, too early, resulting in her having to teach him a lesson with her fist, Myka decided to invest a little more time into the proper dating life. One man and five dates later, she had a proper boyfriend and a proper relationship.

Though that relationship eventually ended, she'd regained a normal life with it, and that normal life did not leave with it.

She was happy then.

And now she was miserable.

A weekend off of work, a flight to South Dakota, and a plan to surprise Artie and Claudia were the secret ingredients this Christmas to a hefty helping of Regression soup. All of the great strides she'd made over the last several years were nothing. She'd climbed to the top of the mountain of self-healing only to be pushed off by Pete himself.

Eventually Claudia and Artie retrieved her from her spot and sat her in one of the chairs in the circle. It smelled like Pete.

"What the hell just happened?" Myka asked slowly and shakily, on the verge of tears.

Claudia moved her chair next to Myka's so she could rub her back. "Myk.. sweetie.. I'm not quite sure how to even begin to explain this to you."

"Just _try_, okay?"

Artie sat up from his chair with a slight wince, approached Myka, and knelt down in front of her. "Pete is alive."

"I really hope it stays that way." Pete spoke, amid a nervous giggle.

Their three heads spun around faster than humanly possible.

"Pete!" Claudia and Artie shouted together. Myka remained silently shocked. In a flash, Claudia's arms were wrapped around Pete's neck.

"I thought you were gonna be gone for another twelve years, ass." She said as she released him.

He had a clever remark for her, but it was stopped just behind his larynx. Myka was just behind Claudia with a strangely fierce look in her eyes. Claudia slinked away, unnoticed by both Myka and Pete.

"Hey, Myks. Care to try again?" He held his arms out.

Myka seemed to consider this for a second, and then she started to walk towards him, slowly at first, then a bit faster. Pete lifted his arms up higher awaiting the hug that would cure all of his worries, and send him straight back to a time before all of this madness.

She stopped a foot short, and punched him right in the face.

"God damn you, Pete!"

Before Pete could react she threw her arms around him, engulfing him in a oxygen-depriving hug. This hug lasted several Earth-shattering seconds before Myka separated and pushed him away. Hard.

She then walked up the stairs to Artie's old quarters without a word.

"Wha..?" Pete managed to breath out after many seconds. He looked over at Claudia, who was doubled over with laughter so intense it looked painful.

Artie put a sarcastic little smile on his face, as he sat back down in his chair. "Looks like we've got the old team back."

Claudia stood up, still very giggly, propped her elbow on Artie's shoulder, and laughed, "The only old one here is you, Artemis," followed by a hair rustle, which Artie batted away immediately, his sarcastic smile gone and replaced by an annoyed look.

"And I'm still surrounded by children, it seems."

Claudia gave him a smug little smile, and then looked up at Pete. Her smile dropped immediately as two men appeared beside Pete.

"Enough time for you, Peter?" The Fixer asked, who had impatience written all over his face, another unfortunate side-effect of emotions. Pete didn't answer.

Claudia was about to ask who they were when Artie launched from his chair, his only wince one of anger.

"What the hell is HE doing here?" Artie demanded furiously, pointing directly at Aries, whose face went from surprised to angry in a matter of milliseconds. Claudia was struck silent. "Fine, I'LL do it." He grabbed the Tesla from the table beside him, and aimed it at Aries.

Pete lunged forward, in front of Aries unintentionally, "Artie! Waitwaitwait!"

Unfortunately, Artie had pulled the trigger and sent many thousands of volts of electricity surging through Pete's body.

He dropped to the floor, unmoving and silent.


	10. Shocked

**Chapter 10**

The entire room stood stunned around Pete's filthy, comatose body. He laid chest down, the sluggish rise-and-fall of his back letting everyone know he was still alive.

Artie retrained his eyes on the intended target and raised his arm to fire again; Pete's accidental sacrifice only served to strengthen his resolve.

"Artie, STOP!" Claudia dove over to Artie and pushed his arm up, sending the shock-wave into the ceiling. The sounds of pieces of plaster pitter-pattering on the cement floor coincided with the harsh clacking of feet on the iron stairs.

"What the hell was that noi—" Myka rounded the last step and saw Pete sprawled out amid the circle of people. "Oh my God!" She dashed over to him, bumping into Claudia along the way, and knelt down.

A grunt forced its way from Myka's chest as she rolled Pete's massive body over, her sweaty hands not helping her effort. Her hands trembled as she felt his face and then checked his neck pulse with her index and middle fingers. The pulse was thready, but it was present. A small, relieved smile formed on her lips as she cupped his still-warm cheek in her hand.

The relief was fleeting though, and anger quickly rose to take its place. Her head lifted slowly as if she was a woman-shaped balloon being filled with hot, infuriated air. She locked her sights on the two new faces in the room, ready to fire her salvo of righteous justice.

Myka stood up aggressively, eying the men with icy suspicion. "What did you do to him?" She barked, her body rigid.

Aries took a step back. "Don't look at us!" He shouted indignantly. "It was him." A shaky finger pointed directly at Artie. Myka didn't even dignify Aries by acknowledging his plea before hurtling herself in his direction. She wrapped her fingers around his black sweater and pushed him into the adjacent bookcase, sending books and tchotchkes sailing to the floor.

All of the fury and misery, that had materialized after Pete's recent disappearance and subsequent return, was redirected toward this unlucky stranger. Aries could feel the deluge of hatred pouring from her eyes as she inched closer.

"Listen, you son of a bitch," Myka yelled, "my partner is unconscious with you and your freaky-looking friend standing over him. Are you really going to stand there and tell me that you had nothing to do with it?" Aries' mouth opened and closed a couple times with no answer emerging. Myka shook him once, "Now, who are you, and what the HELL are you doing here?"

"Great question." Artie added, walking up to the Fixer with the Tesla raised, and trying to be intimidating. The Fixer, who stood at least a foot-and-a-half taller than Artie, just eyed him with confusion.

Myka gave Aries a stronger shake that caused the back of the bookshelf to clatter loudly against the wall.

"We're here... to help... Pete." He painfully stuttered out. His face had turned a bright red, and a few veins struggled to stay inside the skin of his forehead.

Claudia threw her hands in the air, and spoke slowly, "Okay, I hate to be the sane, rational one here, but everyone needs to just calm the hell down." She turned toward the venomous female agent, "Myka, it's kind of hard for him to explain himself with you blocking his airway, isn't it? And Artie," she spoke to the other agent, "stop trying to be intimidating. It's clearly not working."

Artie cast his signature annoyed look while Myka, without loosening her hold on Aries, looked at her best friend helplessly, knowing that she was right.

With one last look of disgust, Myka shoved Aries back against the bookcase and joined Claudia. Artie begrudgingly lowered his weapon and took a step back as well.

All five of them stood wordlessly, letting the dust settle.

After a narrow of the eyes, and a quick shake of the head, Myka walked over to a dusty sofa and dragged it from the corner to the center of the room.

"Claudia, help me get Pete on here, please." Myka requested, as she slid her arms underneath Pete's armpits.

"I'll keep an eye on our friends here." Artie promised, not taking his eyes off the intruders. Claudia nodded, walked over to Pete, and got a firm grip on his ankles.

She took a deep breath. "Okay. Three, two, one..."

They both stood up with strained moans, and managed to get him a couple of feet off the ground. Several tiny baby steps later, they dropped him on the couch and tried not to inhale the thick cloud that erupted as a result.

Claudia walked back to Artie's side swiftly.

"OK, gentlemen..." She started before stealing the Tesla from Artie's hand and, with a few dexterous spins, pointing it directly at Aries' head. "Now that we're calm, I think it's time you answer Myka's question before I give you a little shocky-shock like Artie did with our good friend Pete here."

"Claudia!" Artie barely spit out before he felt Myka's breath on the side of his face.

"What the hell, Artie!"

"Hey!" Claudia cried, preempting Artie's stuttered excuse. "We've got more important things to do here. Can we focus?" She paused before sighing to herself. "God, I sound just like Artie."

Claudia refocused her attention on Aries, who was again staring afraid down the barrel of the Tesla. He took a deep breath and, hands raised, offered his previous explanation more calmly, "We're here to help Pete, to fix him. Or at least he is." He pointed a thumb at the Fixer.

"It's true. So, if maybe you could put down the gu—" The Fixer made the mistake of taking a large step forward, and Claudia, in a moment of panic, unleashed the power of the Tesla, engulfing the Fixer's gray and black frame in a field of blue. The electricity coiled rapidly around his appendages and then rushed into the safety of the ground. The gun sputtered out the last of its energy before dying completely. Claudia let the Tesla drop to her side when she saw the Fixer's unenervated black eyes staring back at her.

"Ouch." He deadpanned, smoke rising from his dark tuxedo.

Claudia didn't resist when the Fixer walked toward her and took the now-dead Tesla from her. "You can believe me or not. Either way..." He crushed the Tesla in his hand. The sound of breaking glass and crunching metal, muffled by cold skin, made Claudia's insides churn. "I am here. And I am not leaving until I fix Pete. You can help me or you can point some more guns at me." He threw the remains of the Tesla to the ground; a single metallic _chink_ cut the moment of silence between the two sentences. "And see how _that_ works out for you."

Claudia broke her eyes away from his; the others couldn't do the same.

"What are you?" Artie half-whispered.

The Fixer regarded Artie with a careless glance. "Does it matter?"

Myka stomped up to him, not as frightened of him as everyone else. "Why? What's in it for you?"

"Nothing. It's just... what I do." The Fixer stepped back near Aries and took control of the situation. "If you want answers, you'll have to sit down, shut up, and stop attacking my for-lack-of-a-better-word 'companion'. Understand?" Claudia and Artie both assented right away, and sat down diligently awaiting further instruction.

Myka crossed her arms and cocked her neck to the side. She sat sharply and raised an eyebrow at the tall, tuxedoed intruder. "Fine. But I can't promise I won't do that last one."

* * *

Irene Frederic opened the door to her home quickly and shut again just as fast. She carried a brown grocery bag filled to the brim with various vegetables and noodles. Not that she needed to eat anything. She mostly kept cooking as a hobby, and eating was relegated to that category as well. One of the perks (or curses depending on who you ask) of being the Warehouse's caretaker was the fact that you can never expire from starvation or dehydration, as well as common workplace hazards like getting shot or falling off of a building. In short, she was as immortal as the Warehouse itself. If it died, she died. And she couldn't die unless it died.

When she agreed to be the caretaker of the second incarnation of the American Warehouse in 1914, she hadn't realized that she would outlive her husband, her son, her entire family, all of her friends.

Now, the Warehouse was her friend; the Warehouse was her family. Those two sentences were the only ones she still dwelled on. The others, she'd learned, were not healthy to brood over. She'd sacrificed her life for this institution, and she didn't regret it, or so she told herself. Though she'd been the caretaker for exactly one hundred and nine years, the feelings still poked at her from time to time.

She set the bag on the counter, began preparations for the lovely stir-fry, and went over the days events in her head.

The trip to her office was a short one. Just a quick check-up on the Warehouse and a peek to see if there were any pings. There weren't.

The slump of this winter wasn't much more significant than any other slump in the Warehouse's history, but she could tell that Artie and his team were getting restless. His face, on the Farnsworth whenever he would tell her about the day's fruitless attempts at finding a potential artifact, was always drained. The search for these mystical items gave him a reason to feel alive, and during slumps like these, that reason vanished. The Warehouse and his car we're the only things keeping him alive, and perhaps his agents.

She'd just begun slicing the red bell pepper when she felt a strange vibe. She stopped her hand and rested the knife on the counter. _Tap, taptap, tap, taptaptap, taptap, tap, tap._

She left the food on the counter and calmly made her way to the hallway near the kitchen. _Tap, taptaptap, tap, taptap._

She immediately locked her vision on the third door on the left, directly across from her bedroom. _Taptap, taptaptap, tap, tap, taptap._

Her hand lingered on the gold knob for a fraction of a second before she let her weight turn the knob and open the door.

The tapping stopped as she entered the completely blank room. The only furnishing in the room was a perfectly centered desk with an antique typewriter resting on top. She breathed deeply and then made her way to the desk.

The sheet of paper was old and yellowed and only held two lines on its withering pulp. The first paragraph was long dried while the second was wet and newly typed.

**Pete Lattimer, Aug. 23, 2011, 3:35 PM, Leena's Bed And Breakfast**

**Sean O'Reilly, Dec. 16, 2023, 2:34 PM, K29ZZZ N. American grid.**

The second man's name awakened memories within her that she'd thought long gone. She lifted up her arm to check her small, golden watch. 11:24 AM. She still had time.

She was about to leave the room when Pete's name caught her eye. The first time she'd used this artifact's prediction, it had been one of the worst mistakes of her life. This time she wouldn't be so careless.

Her face remained a solid nothing as she left the room, her apartment, and Chicago, and made her way to her oldest friend and family member: the Warehouse.

* * *

Pain was the first thing Pete registered as he slowly regained consciousness. His deep muscles shouted their agony outward, covering his entire body in an exhausted ache. He didn't want to open his eyes, let alone sit up, but he eventually had to do both.

"Thanks for the welcome back gift, Artie." He looked around. Everyone was gathered on the other side of the office, presumably discussing Pete's situation. Artie and Aries were seated directly opposite each other, the former not for a second breaking his death glare to the latter. Apparently, during Pete's nice, little nap, Artie had swallowed whatever ill feelings he had toward Aries, and held them in his chest, which was angrily puffed out and pushed almost violently against his crossed arms. Pete's eyes wandered. Everyone seemed to be in the huddle. Everyone except Myka.

Myka wasn't looking at him, but a subtle twitch of the eye let Pete know that she knew he was awake. She sat in a chair a few feet away, her legs and arms crossed tightly, so much so that Pete could make out a weak tremble as it moved up her arms. The fierce look was gone, but it was replaced by a dry unease. Her head was turned toward the group, that was discussing something about the physics of time travel.

"Hey, Myka," he spoke with a vaguely drunk man's slur. There was no joking tone or even a heavily emotional one. Just an everyday greeting. Like they'd bumped into each other in an empty break room, and were forced to exchange awkward words.

She faced him. Her mouth was slightly ajar like she was about reply with a 'hey,' but no sound came out. Her eyes were beet red, and her lips puffy. It was no secret what she'd gone upstairs to do, but Pete chose not to acknowledge it. Pete smiled at her sadly before laying back down on the sofa that had been dragged into the middle of the room. It smelled old, like clothes rotting in a cedar closet. It brought back unpleasant memories of Grandma's house in the dead of winter, and her dragging multiple old coats out for him to suffocate in. He coughed as if on cue.

"Hey." Myka spoke back, almost ten minutes later. Pete craned his head to the side. Her eyes were somewhere else.

"Pete's up!" Claudia shouted. "Come on. Get your ass over here. We've got important stuff to discuss."

He didn't even try to get up, but at another one of Claudia's polite urgings he sat up again, while unfortunately catching a whiff of his own foul stench on the way up. "I need a shower first." He spoke.

Claudia walked over, leaving the others to continue their conversation. "I figured, and I grabbed you another suit from your room."

_My room?_ He thought, before he remembered that if an agent disappeared under mysterious circumstances, his or her belongings were stored in a clone room in the Warehouse. "Thanks," he said, while standing up fully, and taking the neatly folded pile of clothes.

"Shower's upstairs." She told him, pointing to the spiral stairs.

"I know." He responded, while making his way up.

He was at the last iron stair when Artie yelled, "Be careful in there. The shower gets a little... shocky sometimes."

_Fantastic_, Pete thought, sighing away the worry. He'd had enough shocks for the day. _But I need this very, very badly. H_e caught another blast of the awful odor emanating from his underarm region and elsewhere.

What used to be Artie's quarters was now apparently turned into more storage for files and other relics from the kingdom of the office. Old tables, extra chairs, empty cabinets.

A small nook was reserved for Artie's hammock which he probably still used often, and next to that was the door to the bathroom. Pete kicked open the door softly, and flipped the light switch. The light hummed and flickered to life, illuminating the room in a sickening yellow light. He remembered this room from years of inventory potty breaks. It filled him with a subdued feeling of disgust, but also a strange at-home feeling. Must have been like his Uncle Jerry always said, nothing said 'home' like a familiar bathroom.

The walls were composed of the same red brick as the office and the rest of the Warehouse 'watchtower'. Vinyl tiles, which probably hadn't been updated since the early eighties, sat loosely over the cement floor along with a faded purple mat. The toilet, that Myka always refused to sit down on before dousing it in sanitizer and covering it in layers upon layers of toilet paper, eyed Pete evilly from the far corner.

Pete walked up to the mirror and almost gasped. He looked like he'd been working a pottery wheel in a hurricane. His hair was dirty and stuck up in odd places. The shirt that had been white at journey's start was, at it's best spots, a light yellow, and at it's worst, a dark, crusty brown.

"And you were gonna hug Myka looking..." Pete paused, taking in his unsavory scent. "...and smelling... like this?" Pete whispered to himself. In disgust, he pulled the shirt off, letting it drop the the floor unceremoniously. For good measure, he stripped off his pants, underwear, shoes, and socks as well. He balanced the pile of clean clothes on the edge of the sink and turned to his next destination.

The shower was obscured by a skimpy, white plastic curtain. It occurred to Pete that he'd never actually seen the inside of the shower; but, given the state of the sink, which was more rusty than it was clean, he feared that it wouldn't be anything fancy.

"Here goes nothing." He pulled back the curtain, the sound of metal rings scraping across a metal pole invading his ears. He half-expected a crazed serial killer to pounce on him as he did.

The shower looked exactly as he'd imagined it. Like a World War II-era, rusty submarine-looking death trap, with a head that he was surprised could still spout water without breaking off. There were two identical gate valves, one red and one blue, jutting from two ancient, brown copper pipes. Pete cautiously turned the one he hoped would bring hot water. The pipes emitted some frightening banging noises; and, after a few seconds, glorious hot water sputtered out of the deformed shower head. Pete briefly wondered what kinds of grossness had accumulated in the plumbing over the years, but as soon as he entered the stream of steaming heaven, he forgot all else.

Over the course of the nearly thirty minute shower, numerous different thoughts jumped around his brain.

He wondered what had become of the Detective who'd interrogated him and the surly officer who'd arrested him so many years, yet only a day ago. He thought about the FBI agents that he'd disappeared in front of.

That must have had some repercussions. Hell, he might have even made it on the Warehouse's radar for that little magic act. Did younger Artie investigate it? Or maybe some of his team, whose names he couldn't recall? He'd left his wallet in 1976. If a Warehouse team had investigated Pete's case, it would be kept in some folder deep in the dusty recesses of Artie's office. What a trip that would be for Artie and the others, Pete pulling his wallet out of a folder from fifty years ago. The thought brought a smile to Pete's face.

Artie's last words before everything went crazy with angry words and Teslas had moved Pete a bit.

The old team, back together.

It felt like he was on a normal case just yesterday, searching for another wing-nut with a magic weapon. He'd had Myka, Artie, Claudia, and Leena behind him and he'd felt invincible. Then he was whisked away into the great churning river of time, and he almost lost his mind. But now he was back. Twelve years later for everyone else, and on uncertain terms with Myka, but he was still back. And about to embark on another case, this time to solve his own crazy problem. How, he had no idea, and the thought of attempting to figure it out was daunting; but with his team, and a couple new additions, there was hope.

The Fixer was either a God-send or Pete's worst nightmare. If Pete's timeline wasn't corrected, the cold protector would be forced to remove him from existence by locking him in one of those mirror cells... forever.

The thought terrified him, but he tried to reason that it wouldn't be so bad. _He said that eventually I'd go crazy, right? Well, that's not so bad. Maybe I'd imagine a _new_ world. _

He laughed outwardly, but deep inside he cradled a terrible fear. He didn't want to lose everything and everyone he loved to madness. Thankfully, the Fixer didn't seem to particularly like that option, and with someone as powerful as that on Pete's side, the odds were in his favor.

And then there was Aries... Pete had no idea where he fit into all of this. Mrs. Frederic knew Aries and apparently trusted him, and normally that would be enough to earn Pete's trust as well, but he had a gut-feeling that there was something off-key about the quietly abrasive man.

Pete knew that Aries had a personal stake in coming to his "rescue", but he'd remained vague in the mirror prison, where he hadn't exactly been tight-lipped about anything else. Pete could put together that something bad happened in Aries' past, and Mrs. Frederic gave him this opportunity to use Pete to correct it; but, according to Aries himself, the Regents probably would not have allowed him to succeed.

Pete's eyebrows crinkled with frustration. If that was true, then why did they allow Aries to nearly hijack him? He considered this fact for a fraction longer. Maybe Mrs. Frederick more than just trusted him, maybe they were actually friends, or perhaps more than friends!

The thought sent shivers through Pete despite the nearly scalding water. He had never even imagined her as a person who had friends, let alone lovers. The fact that she once had husband was even more unbelievable.

Pete decided that was going to stick with the 'friends' label. The way Aries spoke about her wasn't indicative of a sexual relationship, or even really a friendship, but there weren't many other explanations.

_So, Mrs. Frederic, friend of Aries, genuinely concerned for his happiness, went around the Regents' back with information about my future whereabouts, which she obtained who-the-hell knows how, and gave it to Aries. Unfortunately for him, this crazy Fixer foiled his plans, and now here we all are._

The explanation looked good on paper, but Pete's guts told him that there was something else, another variable in the equation, something that Aries neglected to mention. Pete stuck his head into the torrent of liquid, and let that thought fall to the wayside. He inched his head out slowly, letting the water cover his face.

Then, of course, there was whatever problem Artie had with Aries.

_Ugh. _Pete rubbed the sore area on his chest where the bolt of electricity struck him. Coincidentally, it had hit him directly on top of his cursed scar. He let his hand drop to his side.

Whatever appalling act Aries committed during his tenure at the Warehouse really affected Artie. It must have been pretty horrible for it to have elicited that strong of a reaction from him after such a long time. It was as if Aries was a lesser James MacPherson. Though their beef with each other wasn't really relevant to Pete's problem, curiosity still gnawed at him. That story would be worth a listen.

The unanswered questions made his shower a bit less pleasant, so he let all thoughts slip away, along with the escaping condensation beyond the shower curtain. He grabbed the bar of wrinkled, dry soap that Pete was absolutely sure was used by Nikola Tesla himself and began scrubbing furiously. Dirt had clung to him from 1976, the mid-nineties, and fifty years in the future; he desperately needed it to disappear along with that God-awful stink.

After a while, Pete's feet and hands began to shrivel up, and he had a bit of trouble breathing in all of that steam, but he felt like a new man.

The vibe cut through his shower euphoria with a cold, dry blade.

This one was different from the constant ill feeling that clung to him like the Spine of the Saracen. This one was urgent and borderline painful.

Pete stopped the water, did a quick sweep with a towel, and got dressed immediately. He abandoned the jacket, shirt, and tie, and opted instead for the t-shirt/pants combo he'd been sporting since his little desert excursion.

He rummaged through his old pants pockets and fished out his cell phone. Patting down the rest of the pockets, he found something he didn't remember having on him. He could feel a small cylinder-shaped object through the thin, black linen. He pulled out the small vial containing the artifact bullet that had once occupied its throne in between Pete's aorta and pulmonary arteries. The corner of his mouth lifted up, and he put the little day-ruining nugget in the pocket of his new pants. _Good luck charm, _he thought, amused.

Upon entering the cluttered upstairs room, Pete decided to search the drawers of the empty dresser near Artie's hammock, hoping that Artie was paranoid enough to... "Aha!" He shouted, happily. The drawers were indeed empty, except of course for the dusty, infrequently-used Sig Sauer pistol. Pete kissed the barrel, silently thanking Artie.

He raced down the steps, the feeling of inescapable catastrophe unyielding against his tired mind.

The group was sitting and standing in a circle near the filled chalkboard. They all looked up at Pete

as he rounded the last few stairs. He was breathing heavily and had an upset, almost terrified, look on his face.

"Are you alright, Pete?" Claudia asked, with a worried look that was complemented and reinforced by equal looks around the circle.

Pete rapidly examined the office for anything that shouted 'catastrophe.' His run slowed to an unbalanced walk as he neared the circle. No one had seen the pistol in his hands, so he decided to hide it in his pants, not wanting to alarm anyone. "Yeah, uh, I'm fine." He replied, beads of leftover shower water and sweat tickling their way down his forehead.

"You sure?" She asked. "Because I can easily have Artie put you down for another nap if you're not feeling too well." She took Pete's look of horror as an answer. "No? Well, then sit down, sweetheart, we have work to do." Claudia had become a bit more like Artie in the past twelve years, it seemed. With her it's-for-your-own-good tone and sarcastic demeanor, Pete thought he was seeing double.

The vibe was still beating, like an aching heart, in the back of his head. Something was amiss, Pete just didn't know what.

Pete surveyed the group. Myka, Claudia, and Artie were all comfortably sitting down, while the Fixer and Aries stood uncomfortably a few feet away, spaced just a bit farther apart than the rest of the group. There was a tension in the air. Something had gone down while he was out, Pete surmised. The mistrust formed an invisible bubble around Pete's aged team. A thick, impenetrable fortress. Regardless, Pete was glad they at least tolerated each other for his sake.

"Did you do any follow up on the man who shot Pete? He must be connected somehow." Aries spoke, earning him, perhaps undeservedly so, a few glares from the other half of the circle.

The very sound of Aries' voice made Artie's face crinkle up in disgust. He replied with obvious disdain, "Of course, we did. Many times. He practically disappeared from the face of the Earth. And I haven't had any pings relating to the Jesse James gun since. Not even a whisper."

Claudia chimed in, "Well, is there anything you two can remember?" She looked at both Pete and Myka. "You were the only ones who saw him."

Myka, who was sipping a bottle of water and seemed to be a bit more emotionally stable than before, chimed in, "Um, I just remember running up to roof, and seeing them standing there. And then he shot Pete." Her head fell. When she finally lifted it, she saw everyone was still looking at her. She shook her head quickly and ran a hand through her hair. "Uh. Black clothes, black mask. He was tall, maybe six-one. He definitely used the artifact."

"The same description as every other witness of the preceding thirty-five incidents, which occurred over a period of twenty-five years." Artie added. "Which had led us to believe that the same person was committing the bank robberies. The man always hit at least two banks in the same city, in the same week. He never took any money. And he always shot someone. Which as we know results in some pretty volatile side-effects." His eyes drifted toward the ceiling, deep in reverie. "If I recall correctly, the first person he shot that week was an elderly man..."

"Landon Freed." Myka interjected. "He received a bullet to the foot. Died two minutes later from severe dehydration."

"... Yes." Artie continued. "The second was a teenaged girl..."

"Erika Schneider. She received a bullet to the arm, and an hour later a flesh-eating fungus took it off."

"Thank you, Myka..." Artie chipped, a bit annoyed. He paused and then looked at Pete. "And then you got shot in the heart and two months later got sent through time."

"Quite the artifact..." Aries spoke.

"Indeed." Artie spoke, biting down his anger. "Doing inventory for a couple months afterwards. Being around all of those artifacts. Something must have changed the bullet's properties. It could have been anything. We may never know what." He paused. "Okay. Myka you can finish summarizing the case for me, seeing as you remember much more than I do."

"Well, Pete and I eventually found out that the gun must have been like a drug to anyone that used it. It willed them to hurt and kill people, or commit crimes. It created this... darkness within them." Myka spoke, not remembering this case fondly. "So, knowing that, we figured out that the pseudo-robber liked to strike the biggest, most used banks in each city he'd traveled to. He hit the most populated bank first, so we staked out his next most likely choice, and we found him. Chased him to the roof of that hotel, and the rest... you know..." She trailed off.

Silence encased them as they each remembered the day from their individual points of view.

Pete's head lifted. He'd remembered something. "He knew my name." Everyone looked in his direction. "He knew my name, and talked to me like he knew me." The realization left looks of shock plastered on everyone's, except Aries' and the Fixer's, faces.

Myka piped up, angrily, "Why didn't you tell us that before, Pete?"

Claudia and Artie expressed similar points of view, but Pete only had eyes for Myka at that moment.

"I forgot about it. It didn't seem too important, you know, because of the bullet in my chest!" He replied, his voice rising.

"Everything is important. Even the littlest details. They will probably save your ass. Isn't that what working here was supposed to teach you? Guess it flew right over your head. Big surprise!" Myka cut deeply, with a small flourish of the hands.

"I'm sorry we can't all have your photographic freak-memory!"

"Oh, that's very nice, Pete."

"Yeah. You know what isn't nice? Getting punched in the face." He accented with a point to his cheek.

Myka raised an eyebrow. "Well, maybe if you weren't such an ass, I wouldn't have to punch you. And believe me, I'm considering doing it again."

"Well, I'm right here. Come at me, bro." He baited, arrogantly.

Myka stood up. "No thanks. In fact, I'm going to go in the opposite direction." She collected her coat from the back of her chair, and walked toward the office door. "Goodbye, everyone, and merry Christmas."

Pete watched the door open and Myka disappear beyond it into the umbilicus.

Pete's head dropped, "Crap." He admonished himself. "Myka!" He yelled as he walked toward the door.

The door hissed open a second time, and Myka walked through again. She and Pete made eye contact and the previous vibe hit him in full force.

"Pete." She whispered, with a look of terror on her face. Then, she lifted her hands up.

"Myka, What are you..." Pete tried to ask before two agents, a man and a woman, barged in behind Myka, guns raised.

"Alright, no one move." The male agent ordered. He was black, tall, and intimidating, his voice cold and dark. In contrast to his partner, who was pale and blonde, shorter but perhaps more muscular than Myka or Claudia. They held their guns in the group's general direction, their eyes shifting from person to person.

Myka and Pete backed up slowly toward Artie and the others. Pete held her close, ready to throw himself in front of their bullets if necessary.

Artie and Claudia both stood up from their chairs. "Toby, Rylee... What are you guys doing?" Claudia demanded, incredulously.

The agent named Rylee seemed conflicted with the situation, but regardless, she said, "Sorry, Claud. Just following orders."

"Orders!" Artie shouted, stepping forward. "I am your boss, you follow _my_ orders. Put down those guns now!" They did not yield.

Pete gathered that these two agents were in the current line-up of the Warehouse's merry band of thieves. _Mrs. Frederic sure knows how to pick 'em, _Pete thought. They looked like two terminators, beautiful and deadly.

"Who's orders?" Claudia asked worriedly.

"Mine." Said a tame yet stern voice. Pete recognized it immediately. Mrs. Frederic heels clicked on the cement as she entered from the umbilicus behind her agents. She hadn't aged a day since he last saw her, and she still had the same elegant grandmotherly fashion sense.

"And mine." Another voice spoke, a man's. None other than Adwin Kosan, head Regent, stepped in and took a place beside Frederic. Unlike his quiet companion, Kosan had visibly aged, a few wrinkles showing themselves in the areas around his eyes and mouth, but he still retained that air of terrifying mystery.

Artie and Claudia were both speechless. How could the Regents order their own agents against them?

Their silent question was answered. "Him." Frederic pointed daintily. "In the tuxedo."

The armed agents both trained their weapons at the Fixer's forehead. "Come toward us with your hands up." Toby commanded.

The Fixer made a lopsided smile, and then vanished. The agents were taken aback for a split second before they noticed that the Fixer had reappeared next to Pete. The grey man pushed Myka away and grabbed Pete's arm roughly. "I think it's time we left." He said.

Pete expected to be whisked away from his team to some unknown destination yet again. But instead he had to cover his ears.

The Fixer crouched down, cluched his head, and began screaming. The sound was almost inhuman in that it seemed to contain multiple voices rather than simply one. After a second, the strange screaming halted, and he tumbled onto his back side. His arms and legs twitched uncontrollably, his eyes darted every which way, and foam started to gush violently from his mouth. He was having a seizure.

Pete knelt next to him. "What the hell are you doing to him!" Pete bellowed at the two Regents. They just stared down with indifferent faces. The Warehouse agents, however, had lowered their guns, shocked.

"Shouldn't we call an ambulance or something?" Rylee asked, but it might as well have been rhetorical.

Suddenly, a beeping noise erupted from Artie's desktop computer. A map of the Warehouse had pulled itself up, and was registering an increasing number of artifact disturbances around the office. Static storms began to light up the Warehouse outside the window, catching everyone's attention.

Artie rushed over to the computer and checked static and negative energy levels. The results were foreboding.

"Mrs. Frederic," He started, surprisingly calm, "you better stop whatever you're doing to him or we're going to have a lot of trouble on our hands."

"I can't." She said simply.

"What do you mean, you can't?" Pete scoffed, trying to hold the Fixer's arms down. He'd started to flail.

"Well, you better figure something out." Artie didn't look up from the screen. "And fast."

No one said anything.

"Uh. Now... now... NOW!" Artie screamed as a bolt of electricity sprung up and shattered one of the glass windows.

Everyone jumped back as the bolt remained for a second, buzzed harshly, and then vanished. The office lights and warehouse lights began to flicker out one by one. The event gave Pete an idea.

"ARTIE, SHOCK HIM!" Pete bellowed above the roar of the Warehouse.

"I can't. He crushed the Tesla!" Artie yelled back.

"Don't you have a spare or something?" Pete looked at the terminators. "What about you guys?"

Toby was released from his trance. "Uh. Yeah." He put the pistol away and pulled out his shiny new Tesla. He aimed and fired directly at the seizing man, illuminating the dark room in a ghostly blue glow. The Fixer jumped up a bit, but was otherwise unaffected.

"Was that full power?" Pete asked. Toby nodded grimly.

Pete huffed, "I guess we'll have to do this the old fashioned way..." He bent over, grabbed the Fixer's lapel and aimed a knuckled punch directly at his temple, intent on knocking him out. The punch connected and Pete immediately shot up clutching his fist. His mouth was soundlessly wide open before he shouted, "oh.. my.. GOD!"

It was like he'd punched the cement wall all over again, and unfortunately it was all for nothing. The Fixer thrashed around seemingly unfazed by either of the men's attempts at rendering him unconscious.

"What the hell is that guy made of... steel?"

The Warehouse had begun to shake, imperceptibly at first, but by then it was noticeable. Everyone in the room was clutching the wall or piece of furniture nearest them in an attempt to stabilize themselves. Artie went back to the computer and opened a window that contained a digital seismic readout. "We're at about a three-point-five. Once it reaches a six, the positive reaction sustains itself and we won't be able to stop it. I'm gonna have to flush the entire Warehouse."

"Are you sure Artie? That's a lot of clean up." Claudia yelled above the rumble.

Instead of answering, Artie shakily made his way to a clear don't-break-this-unless-there's-an-emergency type case next to the balcony door. He pressed his thumb to an electric pad underneath the case and waited. The ground movement made it hard for him to get a good read, but eventually the sliding door opened with a beep.

The case contained nothing but a large, ominous purple button.

Artie breathed for a moment and looked back at the computer screen... 5.1.

Just as he was about to lower his fist to drench the entire Warehouse in neutralizer, the shaking stopped. His attention returned to the computer screen. 3.6... 2.1... 0.9... 0.0.

The lights faded back on and the static discharge ceased. Everyone looked around before returning to a stable standing position.

Myka slackened her grip on the heavy leather chair, turned her head to Pete, and gasped, "PETE, LOOK OUT!"

Pete twisted around in just enough time to see the Fixer's fist as it collided with his cheek. He flew back into the brick wall, creating many cracks and sending dust outward.

The terminator-like Warehouse agents were not even a match for the Fixer's sheer speed and strength as he knocked their raised guns out of their hands, and blasted them both out of the way with one sweep of his arms.

As the fog left Pete's head he got a glimpse of the Fixer's eyes. They looked absolutely empty. Whatever jovial life had existed within him was gone and replaced by something cold, calculating, and strong. Pete tried to get up, but the pain of at least three broken ribs shocked him into submission.

Frederic and Kosan looked unafraid as they sealed and locked the door behind them. They took defensive positions, daring the Fixer to try to get through them. The agents would be no problem, but the door and this entire office was strong enough to withstand a high-powered explosion from mere feet away. The Fixer wouldn't be able to break through. Seeing this, the Fixer turned to his right, and bounded past Aries, Claudia and the others. In one great leap, he dove through the shattered window, over the balcony, and into the Warehouse below.

He fell fifty feet to the cement, resulting in a loud bang that was powerful enough to shake the office. Artie, Kosan, and Frederic raced to the balcony and located him. The Fixer ran faster than any normal human being, but a trail of powerful static discharge followed him like a white, glowing beacon. He ran straight into the belly of the Warehouse.

"He's going for the back door." Kosan affirmed. "We have to stop him."

Artie started prepping the zip line. "I don't know if this will be fast enough to catch him. If you take how fast he's going and the max speed of the zip line, we'll fall behind at a rate of about one and a half meters per second, not to mention the massive head start he got, and plus the..." Artie spoke, his volume going from normal to mumbled by the end. He was pretty much talking to himself.

Mrs. Frederic walked calmly back inside, stood in front of the neutralizer button, and pressed it lightly.

A second after, thousands of sprinkler nozzles descended from the ceiling and activated one after the other, like a rapid-fire machine gun, spraying the purple liquid into every crevice in the Warehouse.

Artie stopped his fiddling with the coordinate system, and looked out into the Warehouse's depths. Just past the zeppelin, a brilliant flash of light shone for a moment and then extinguished. The ghostly echoes of an agonized scream flooded back to their ears.

Artie's mouth was half-opened in awe. "Or that... Uh. Th- th- that works also." He pushed his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose.

Frederic made her way back out to the balcony with self-satisfied yet serious smile on her face. "Let's go collect the Fixer, shall we?"

* * *

**A/N: **

**This was a pretty action-packed chapter, right? And it was the longest chapter of the story so far, right? That deserves at least one review, right? **

**Leave anything! Even if it's just "Loved it" or "Hated it." The review count going another tick higher always ups my self-esteem. **

**A few things: **

**The next chapter will answer a lot of questions, so stay tuned (or whatever the internet equivalent of that expression is)!**

**The alliteration "pieces of plaster pitter-pattering" was completely unintentional. I decided to leave it in for your enjoyment. Another thing to consider when deciding to write a review. :)**

**I'm going to space the updates evenly so that the final chapters fall after the premiere of the fourth season (whenever that may be), so that throngs of people rushing back to the fandom afterward will be able to see the story. Whether they're discovering it for the first time or rediscovering it. **

**And, last but not least, I love you. And thanks for sticking with me so far. I know it sucks to have to read the story over and over again. I know because I've had to do it many times myself. But, hey, at least it's not boring, right? **


	11. Interlude: The Widow

**Interlude**

Emma could not comprehend the words being said.

"Mrs. O'Reilly, We cannot relinquish your husband's remains at this time." The agent's lips moved, and sounds came out, but they made no sense to her. _Why not?_ She wanted to ask, more like scream, but she didn't. Her throat closed, and didn't open again for some time.

The agent had middle-eastern features, but spoke in a dark American accent. Almost as dark as whatever blackness rested just behind his eyes. His face contained no trace of sympathy, and no matter how hard she tried to elicit them with tears and silence, she could see no winces or guilty expressions.

Emma breathed, teary-eyed, "What does the secret service want with my husband's body? Isn't your job to protect the President or something?"

He dodged the last question. "We recovered his body in An Lộc shortly after the battle began. He appeared to have succumbed to an aneurism. But the autopsy indicated that a rare, undocumented virus may have been responsible. We have to retain the body for further testing."

This war. This damned war had taken everything from her. And now it wouldn't let her, her mother-in-law, her father-in-law, and her entire family, give her husband the burial he deserved.

She wiped the tear from her cheek. "I want to have a funeral for my husband, Mr. Kosan."

"I understand, Mrs. O'Reilly, but this is in the interest of the entire country. An epidemic would not be the best thing for us right now. Your husband is a hero, and even in death he can help save more innocent lives. Wouldn't you want that for him?"

"With all due respect, Mr. Kosan, my husband died of a brain aneurism. He's noone's hero except for the sorry sacks of shit that you work for. I _wanted_ him to stay here. But he was pulled in by your propaganda, and your lies. He could have died here, and died loved. Now I have to go on knowing that he was on the battlefield, watching his friends die, and looking into the eyes of people who hated him. As far as I'm concerned, the aneurism is the hero for saving him from that hell." The tears began anew as she slammed the door in his face.

Kosan stared at the white door in front of him for a moment before turning around and walking along the cement path to the gate. The screeching of the hinges was met with the soft screeching of the black limousine's brakes.

He entered with a sigh.

"It went well, I take it?" Leona asked, looking forward.

Kosan responded, "About as well as expected. She's not happy."

"She will not be happy again for many years. That would have been true either way." She ended the conversation by pulling out the Farnsworth from her jacket pocket.

She adjusted the channel knob and pressed the black button next to it. A moment later, Hugo Miller's face popped up.

"Well, well, well, Mrs. L..." He joked. "What a surprise getting your call, I was just about to-"

"Enough, Hugo." Leona interrupted. "Have you had a chance to think about my offer?"

His face turned uncharacteristically serious. "Leona..." He sighed and rubbed his hand on his forehead. "I told you, doing this will probably get us all... you know... _killed."_

"Let Kosan and I worry about keeping the secrets, you just worry about the science. Is it possible?"

"Well, theoretically, yes."

"So, what's the problem?"

"Theory is one thing Leona, and putting that theory to use is a whole 'nother game. First of all, I told you we'd need the right man for-"

"We found him already."

"Really?" He looked surprised. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well, get him down to the Warehouse fast so I can run some tests. We need to get him on ice right away." His fingers twitched and his eyes blinked rapidly as the gears turned in his head. "I haven't even begun to even THINK about even writing this down on paper, let alone getting it on the computer. Getting this to work is going to take all of the Warehouse's computer power and then some. This is crazy... even for us." He rambled on while Leona stared unimpressed and impatient.

"Hugo, enough. You're starting to sound like Arthur."

"Ha ha. You made a joke. That's a first!" Hugo laughed, before seeing Leona's face entirely devoid of humor. He coughed, trying to resume looking serious and failing at it.

"This could take years, L." He said softly.

"I realize that, and so does Adwin. We're willing to wait as long as you're willing to make this work." Leona said. "We can't forget why we're doing this."

Hugo's head lowered. "I understand." He raised his head again with an unsure smile. "Okay. I'm in. On two conditions..." Leona's eyebrow raised. "I want full reign over the entire Warehouse network, and I work around my own schedule."

Leona looked uncertain, but Kosan spoke up. "Done."

"Fantastic!" Hugo shouted. "Well, I'll get to work right away." He was about to shut the Farnsworth cover before Leona stopped him.

"And one more thing Hugo. Tell your team nothing. Not even Arthur. Kosan and I are the only ones who are to know about your progress in this operation. Is that clear?" She ordered, sternly.

Hugo nodded. "Yes, but–!" She closed the cover before he could protest, and resumed her silence.

Kosan stared out the window at the suburban Philadelphia landscape, and thought about the grieving widow of the unfortunate soldier. She was so young, and the war had demolished her faith in the US government and just about everything else. He felt a pang of sadness, but it shared space with a strange bit of hope. The melancholic feeling was partly due to this thought:

_He may not have been a hero before, but he sure as hell is going to be one soon._

_And the widow would never know that._


	12. Instinct and Reason

**Chapter 11**

Everyone was gathered around the unconscious body of the Fixer, which Artie had brought back up to the office using a tuning fork and a feather. The abilities of those two artifacts in conjunction somehow made the Fixer's body practically weightless, and Artie was able to lift him back to the office himself.

Artie didn't share any factoids about who the objects had belonged to or how they worked (though it was one of his favorite pastimes), and Pete didn't ask. Artie just silently lifted the nearly six-and-a-half foot man and strapped him into a cold, metal table that Claudia had obtained from somewhere in the upstairs storage area. Pete briefly thought about how weird, yet not surprising, it was that a restraining table would be a necessary item to store in the Warehouse.

Pete winced as he stood up from the leather chair in the center of Artie's office. He received protests from Myka, but he waved her down. He tried to look strong for her, but he looked more strained than anything else. The painkillers Claudia had given him helped a bit, but he still felt fire engulf his back every time he sat down or stood up. She confirmed that he had fractured at least one back rib, and bruised probably his entire back ribcage. Pete would have cursed the brick wall, but he was stopped by a biting pain on his jaw bone. His right cheek was black-and-blue, and he sported a nice, deep cut just below his cheekbone. All thanks to his pal the Fixer. He looked like he'd had his hands tied behind his back while an MMA fighter attacked him for an hour straight. He bit back the jaw pain hand spoke directly to the two highest authorities in the room.

"Alright." Pete began, sounding fed up with everything. "Mrs. Frederic, I don't care if you're the caretaker of the Warehouse. And Mr. Kosan, I don't care if you are the scariest man alive who may or may not have the authority to kill me." Kosan raised an eyebrow, his forehead crinkling in the process. Pete showed fear for only a brief second before reassuming his tough-guy act. "I'm sick of all of the secrecy, of all the bullshit. I am twelve years from home, and I want answers. What do you know about him?" He pointed at the Fixer.

Frederic looked at Kosan, not so much for permission, but rather to kindly let him know that she was about to tell Pete everything. Kosan nodded his assent.

She stepped forward, and cleared her throat. "Before I begin, I do not think I have to remind anyone that this is a secret of the very highest degree. The only people who are know what I am about to tell are Adwin, myself, and Hugo Miller."

"Hugo?" Artie questioned. He was silenced by a stare from Mrs. Frederic.

"Arthur, I'm sure you remember the case involving the gauntlet of the Nordic priestess."

"Adelia. Yes." Artie said, to the bemusement of the rest of the group. He saw questioning looks on Pete, Myka, and the other's faces. "In 1971, there was an artifact, a gaunlet belonging to a priestess named Adelia. It had the power to travel through time and space."

Pete spoke up, "I thought there were no time-travel artifacts in the Warehouse."

"I just told you that so you would stop looking." Artie said, making Pete huff with anger. "Regardless, it's not in the Warehouse. It never was."

Kosan joined the conversation, hoping to move it along, "The gauntlet could only be used at a very specific place in the Scandinavian highlands, and it worked by activating a portal. The only way to effectively neutralize the gauntlet was to destabilize the portal and throw the gauntlet in as it collapsed."

"The portal itself had kind of a weight limit." Artie continued. "Enter too many bodies in at once and it would collapse. Two of my fellow agents sacrificed their lives to stop the criminal who almost changed history."

Mrs. Frederic took over. "This was a very important case for the Regents. Time travel artifacts had been a thorn in the Warehouse's side before, and had taken more than their share of agents' lives."

"So, we threw around some ideas for preventative measures. A task force, maybe a 'specialist'. " Kosan said. "The problem was: no one wanted to put any agents lives at further risk, so Hugo, who was just getting into the concept of artificial intelligence at the time, suggested an AI for the job. That job being to search for and eliminate any time-traveling threats."

"A few of us were open to the idea. Myself and Kosan, included." Frederic spoke. "Unfortunately, the others were not as easily convinced that the idea had merit. The Regents talked it over, Kosan and I were out-voted, and the idea was put to rest. I realized if I was going to act to save our agents from future time-travel artifact issues, I would be acting on my own. So, Kosan and I approached Miller afterward and asked him about the project. He was uncertain about starting the project without Regent approval, but he wanted to protect the agents as much as we did."

"Regrettably, he wasn't nearly as far along with AI tech as we'd assumed." Kosan said, "After a few weeks it was clear that he could not create a full-fledged AI. The technology just wasn't far enough along. However, Hugo had another, more risky idea. And that was to use an already fully functioning intelligence, in conjunction with an artificial one. After all, we already had the most sophisticated computer in the world at our disposal." He took his index finger and tapped the side of his temple.

Artie was flabbergasted. He stood up and got in Kosan's face. "You used a human being!" Kosan looked defensive, but said nothing to the angry Warehouse manager in front of him.

Mrs. Frederic clacked up to the table that held the Fixer in a tight leather embrace. He looked as gray as ever; and, had everyone not known otherwise, they would have assumed he was dead. There was no breathing, no movement what-so-ever.

"His name was Sean O'Reilly. Signed up with the army, and in 1972 was deployed to Vietnam. He died on the first day of the Battle of An Lộc. A ruptured brain aneurism. Completely unrelated to any battle injuries."

Pete sat up on the edge of his chair, earning him a pain spike. "So, you took this man, and cut out his brain and sewed in a computer?"

Frederic turned toward him. "A crude way to put it, but yes."

"That doesn't explain his powers. How he can travel through time? And why is he stronger than any man I've ever met? And why do I break my knuckles when I punch him?" He held up his bruised fist.

Artie spoke up, a bit depressed that this depraved experiment was performed behind his back. "A simple answer. You used artifacts, too, didn't you?" Kosan nodded once.

Then, the high-pitched squeak of a voice through a speaker filled the air. "You mean it actually worked. He's alive?" It was the voice of Hugo Miller. "Point me over let me see!"

Claudia had apparently taken the opportunity to call him up on the Farnsworth. His face was alight with excitement as she turned the device around to face the unconscious man.

"Fantastic!" He shouted. The speakers nearly blew out. "I never thought I would see that tux again!" He looked at Frederic and Kosan, who both promptly rolled their eyes. "And you said it wouldn't hold up. That's fine Italian craftsmanship at its best, ladies and gentlemen. And not a scuff or a scratch on it. The Fixer was good to my baby."

"Well, that explains the tuxedo..." Pete whispered to Myka.

"I don't know what you're implying there, Petey-boy, but I'm going to assume you're complementing my sense of style." Hugo beamed. "And, no, I didn't just cut out his brain and put in a computer. You insult me! I replaced his cerebellum." He paused "Also, his parietal and occipital lobes... and parts of his temporal and frontal lobes, with artificial brain matter of my own design. Highly experimental. I wasn't even entirely sure if it worked until now. Ha ha!"

"Whatever, Doctor Frankenstein. What about the artifacts?" Pete asked.

"I implanted the proper artifacts in different spots in his body." He replied.

Claudia moaned. "The world's creepiest game of Operation."

"Uh-huh. And get this, that's not blood running through his veins. That's pure neutralizer, baby." Hugo spoke, almost bragging about it. Artie would have spit out his drink if he had been drinking anything. "The Instinct computer regulates neutralizer flow by opening and closing various blood vessels. It can be controlled consciously by the host or unconsciously by the Instinct, allowing certain artifacts to function while others are dormant. This is how he uses his abilities."

"Instinct computer?" Myka questioned.

"The Fixer's brain. It is an amalgam of the natural and artificial. The most powerful computer ever built."

"Am I the only one that's completely disgusted by all of this?" Artie whined, his voice tired out. He rubbed his forehead with his hand.

"Not at all, believe me." Myka spoke. "And you just let him loose on the world without testing or anything?"

"Well, that's where the problems started." He began, some seriousness creeping in on his joyful face. "I had finished putting all of the pieces together. All that was left was to flip the switch and see what happened." He stopped.

Myka raised both of her eyebrows. "Aaand?"

Hugo put on an embarrassed little smile. "You see, this is the part that I don't want to tell because–"

"For Christ's sake, Hugo, just say it." Kosan ordered.

"Fine, fine... I restarted his heart, so it could pump the neutralizer, and activated the basic systems of the Instinct computer. Did a check of that, and everything was fine. Then, when I did a full activation of all systems..." Hugo sighed a long sigh. "... he disappeared."

"Gone. Just like that?" Pete questioned.

"Yup. It's unfortunate that we didn't put any barriers over the Warehouse until after the fact."

Kosan smirked. "Actually, I believe it was _you_ who _forgot_ to put up the barriers after we explicitly told you to do so."

Mrs. Frederic held up a small remote, similar to the kind Pete would use to unlock his car. "It lets him in, but it doesn't let him out. This was the cause of our little disturbance earlier. I had no idea it would have such an effect on him."

Hugo looked puzzled. "Why, what happened to him?"

Pete answered for her. "He had a seizure and went coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs."

"Hmm." Hugo rubbed his chin. "That shouldn't happen. I designed the barrier so it would impede him from leaving the Warehouse if he ever returned. It wasn't weaponized or anything." He looked down, considering a few options. "How did he act around everyone before the seizure? Did he seem nervous or anything?"

"Not really. He seemed extra intense though. Maybe even a little angry or annoyed." Pete replied, running a hand through his hair. "After the seizure is an entirely different story... Let's just say he acted more like a..."

"Evil killer robot?" Claudia finished for him.

Hugo took this information in for a moment. "One of the tasks of the Instinct computer is to suppress the emotions of the former self, as well as things like memories, cravings... If it was losing that control already, something must have been wrong. The seizure must have triggered a shift into total Instinct."

"Something must have been wrong? What does that mean?" Myka asked. At this point, Claudia's arm was aching from holding up her Farnsworth, so she pulled up a small table and leaned the tiny television on a stack of books. "Well?" Myka inquired impatiently while Hugo was getting used to his new surroundings from inside the little tin box.

"This computer is light-years and light-years beyond anything we had back then, and in some respects even what we have _today_." He spoke. "I was reckless and, as much as I hate to say it, _accidentally_ brilliant. The Instinct computer could have easily not turned on at all. It could have created a monster. It could have exploded. It could have done all manner of things. But instead it worked exactly as I'd created it to."

Myka leaned a little closer to the round screen. "You said that there was something wrong. What does you being brilliant have anything to do with that?"

"Because I made it _too_ perfect. I gave it the ability to lock onto potential threats to the time stream. Artifact signatures and the like. The computer's sensors must have caught something it didn't recognize, something I didn't program for. Something bad. As a result, I believe it began relinquishing control to the host. This should have been a warning. Like a hound barking before an earthquake. I believe it was preparing to go into hibernation."

"Hibernation?" Myka, Pete, and Claudia spoke at the same time.

"The Instinct computer has the ability to take the Fixer into hibernation, which is where I suspect he went after he disappeared so long ago, into some little sub-space hideout. When there is not any trouble in the time stream, that is where the Fixer goes."

"But he was in the middle of fixing me. Why would he start going into hibernation?"

"That's the question, isn't it?" Hugo's face became fully serious. "What event could be so awful that even Superman would run and hide?" Nobody in the office could answer his rhetorical question.

"So, what do you recommend?" Frederic asked calmly.

"I recommend you remove the instinct computer from it's host, and wait for me to examine it. There is a way to access the readings and decipher them into a language we can understand. We must find out what spooked the spook!" He accented with large grin. "And on that note, I have to pack for an indefinite period of stay in Crazytown, South Dakota. Aloha!" The circular screen flashed to black in an instant, leaving the weary group of Warehouse workers in a daze of confusion.

Artie sighed sharply and slammed a hand on his desk. "He talks about taking this man's brain out like he's some machine. He's still a human being, for crying out loud!"

Frederic looked at her old, graying friend. "Arthur... Whatever was left of Sean O'Reilly died fifty years ago."

"How do you know that for sure?" Artie looked directly into her eyes, her soul cowering behind the dim glint of Warehouse light. "Huh!? The human brain is still a mystery, even today. You can't just kill that spark. You can't fake it either. And when you try, there are consequences. When you blurred the line between artificial and natural, you gave up the very notion of prediction of those consequences." Artie walked over to the Fixer's still frame and placed a hand on the smooth fabric of the black jacket. "You three were reckless... not to mention stupid. There's no telling what this man is capable of."

Kosan stepped forward next to Artie. "We know what he's capable of. We programmed him."

Pete sighed painfully, and leaned forward, upset that the higher-ups could not see the error of their ways. "Do you think nature gives a crap about programming? If the Instinct computer is as sophisticated as Hugo says, doesn't that mean it can learn, and grow, and change? Throw all of those artifacts into the mix, and you've got yourself a walking time bomb. Scratch that. You've got yourself a time-traveling, ass-kicking, tuxedo-wearing time bomb. And it's just a matter of time before an artifact misfires and screws with the programming, or maybe the instinct computer decides it doesn't want to fix things, it wants to destroy things. He's not the kind of guy you want hangin' out in the space-time continuum, you know?"

Kosan and Frederic gazed at Pete, struck by his response.

Kosan responded with a stale indifference, "Had we been more careful with it..."

"Him." Artie interrupted with a hard stare.

"...More careful with_ him_," He continued, "We would have searched for every single thing that could possibly go wrong. Diagnostics. Virtual testing. Granted, the technology back then for that kind of thing was not quite in full form. Our 'supercomputer' was, by today's standards, quite primitive. But, had he not disappeared, had we put the necessary protections in place, that's what we would have done. We had envisioned many years of this before actually releasing him. But he disappeared and now... here we are."

"And so you just forgot about the whole thing, and never told anyone?" Artie accused.

Mrs. Frederic answered, "Had the other Regents found out about it..."

"...It would not have been pretty." Kosan finished. "We did what we had to do. What we thought was the right thing."

"Unfortunately, we could not keep Hugo from doing his AI research, and I think we all know how that turned out." Frederic sighed. "Eventually, we just hired another agent. A lawyer with a background in theoretical physics, an all around brilliant man."

"You flatter me. And I suppose this was the real reason you hired me?" Aries spoke up. He was seated next to the beaten-up Terminator-esque agents on the couch, which was slightly removed from the rest of the group. He hadn't said a word until then.

"Correct. You were our contingency plan. A lawyer, but with a past in theoretical physics and a connection to the Warehouse." Kosan spoke. "Our 'time-travel specialist.' Mostly he just tagged along with everyone else and was a normal agent. And to his knowledge he was one."

"...Until he got everyone else killed." Artie said. Everyone looked at him.

Aries stood up and confronted Artie, with his finger pointed in the old man's direction. "I didn't do anything!"

"Exactly." Artie said, unwavering in his defiance.

Pete had enough. "People. I know there's this huge elephant in the room about what Aries did. I don't know what it was, and I don't want to know, but whatever it was we need to put it behind us. We're dealing with something _way_ more important than that."

Artie ignored Pete. "This man went out with our whole team to assess a magnetic disturbance. Just as they entered the building, he ran away. Didn't call the team. Didn't warn them in any way." Artie paused. "The building collapsed, killing everyone. And HE," He once again stared down Aries. "holes up in some hotel, not even planning to come back to the Warehouse. We found a passport and fake identity hidden in his suitcase. Almost like he planned it."

Aries seemed to lose some of his fight after hearing the story again. "That was never proven."

"And it never will be." Mrs. Frederic stepped forward to speak to both men. "I have always expressed my deepest faith in this man's innocence. The Regents believed otherwise. Some wanted more... extreme measures taken, but they eventually decided to cut all of his ties with the Warehouse and keep him on permanent surveillance."

"And that's been my life for the past twenty years. Fun stuff." Aries spoke, his dark, unwelcoming humor showing through.

Pete took everyone's silence to mean that they were done. "Are we done? Can we focus on fixing me and this whole effed-up situation?" He motioned to himself and then the Fixer.

"For God's sake, Pete. You don't need to be fixed." Aries spoke. "There I said it."

"What are you talking about? You heard the Fixer, I'm a walking error."

"Sure, just not in the 'destroy the universe' kinda way. More of a 'you got dropped on you head when you were a kid' kind of way." Everyone was looking to Aries for further explanation. "Come on. You didn't think that was a little too out there? Simply traveling through time does not destroy the universe. What he was talking about made no sense at all. Maybe in a sci-fi TV show. But what do I know, I'm just the 'time-travel specialist."

Pete's eyebrows were crinkled up. "Why didn't you say anything before, and why would he make it up?"

"In case you hadn't noticed, I wasn't very keen on being imprisoned by that psychopath. I came here to help myself, not you, and when I realized that wasn't an option, maybe I felt a little pissed off." Aries sank back into the sofa. "And I have no answer to your other question. Who knows, Maybe the godly computer isn't all that it's cracked up to be."

"That's what we're afraid of." Artie spoke, solemnly.

The group was silent until Mrs. Frederic walked over to the entrance to the Warehouse. "We'll figure it all out when Hugo gets here. In the mean time, we have to get to the computer room, and prepare to separate the computer from the host." The last part made Artie cringe, but regardless he stood up along with the rest of the team and walked to the Warehouse stairs. Kosan delegated the job of carrying the Fixer, who was starting to regain some of his former weight, to the terminators, who still had no trouble.

Myka and Pete were the last to enter the aisles of the Warehouse, and they purposefully strayed quite a ways behind the group.

"Myka, I..."

"Pete, I know." She said sharply. Pete looked hurt. She softened her features and spoke again, "I'm sorry. It's just you coming back has made me a bit... crazy. It's a little hard to handle after twelve years."

"I know. And I kind of wish I would've never turned up here in the first place. You seemed happy before you saw me." He lowered his head.

"Don't be stupid, Pete." She said, derisively. She thought about her next words carefully."You have no idea how many nights I stayed up wondering what the hell happened to you. As far as we knew, you were dead. I was miserable for a very long time. It's been twelve years, Pete. I had to get over you or lose myself. I was happy. But none of that matters now. You're back, and we... I... have to help you get back to normal." She said, determinedly.

"Aries says I'm fine. And I think I believe him." They stopped taking for another few aisles. They watched the rest of the group. They muttered occasionally, but were otherwise silent as well.

The 'constant vibe', as Pete dubbed it, still tickled him, causing an itch that he could never hope to scratch. Every once in a while there would be a little spike in intensity, like a little skips in a vinyl record. These, he had gotten used to. But, ever since he returned to the Warehouse with the Fixer and Aries, there had been a gradual increase in urgency of the constant vibe. This worried him.

Pete looked at Myka, and spoke, "During this whole thing, I've been having these vibes." Myka opened her mouth to say what Pete assumed would be _'duh'_. Pete blocked her interruption, holding his hand up."But not normal ones. These feel different. And everything that Hugo said about the unknown threat got me thinking. There's something else. Something bad. And I'm scared, Myka, I really am."

"Why didn't you tell anyone about the vibes?" Myka asked.

"Everyone was so dead set on figuring out what was wrong with me, that I didn't want to mention it."

Pete was a little embarrassed about not telling anyone about the vibe. Myka sensed this. "All the more reason to get into this Instinct computer to find out what that 'something bad' is. Don't worry, Pete. We've got Mrs. Frederic, Mr. Kosan, Artie, Claudia, Hugo Miller. We're going to figure this out. Trust me."

Pete stopped suddenly.

"Pete, what's wrong?" Myka's question went unheard.

A fearsome vibe hacked at Pete's spinal cord, eviscerating the very notion of contentment. He started walking again and sped up to a light jog to catch up with the group. Every pace was coupled with a stab of pain in his back, and even his jaw, but it didn't deter him.

Pete caught up with them just as they neared the next large intersection of aisles. He slowed as he approached Mrs. Frederic, and he called out to her. She was just about to acknowledge him when a man in a crisp, gray suit emerged from the aisle to their left.

"Benedict?" Kosan spoke, "What in the world are you doing here?"

"I should be asking you the same question, sir." He spoke to Kosan, but he had eyes for no one but Mrs. Frederic. "Now I'm going to make this very simple..." Valda pulled out a gun from his hidden shouder holster, and pointed it directly at Frederic's stoic, now more angry, face.

Everyone immediately tensed up. The Terminator's let go of the Fixer, who floated gently to the ground, and confronted the aggressor with their weapons drawn.

"Gemini." Valda spoke.

Suddenly, the quick bald man stole Myka's gun from her hip holster and pointed it at the back of Agent Rylee's head. Toby whirled around and trained his weapon on Aries. Everyone else was still too stunned by the turn or events to react.

"Gregory, what are you doing?" Mrs. Frederic asked. No answer came.

"I'd just put the weapon down, dear." Valda said to Rylee. She lowered her pistol to the ground and held up her hands. "You too Tobias. I wouldn't want to have to kill your boss _and _your lover." Toby clenched his jaw, slid his weapon to Valda, and made his way over to Rylee.

Pete looked at Aries with a rage so fierce that he was sure it could pierce a skull. The rage lessened when he noticed something strange. The man's eyes were darting every which way, and the pupils and irises were concealed by a creamy gold film that swirled about his cornea.

Before the guns were drawn, Claudia and Artie had made their way back to where Pete and Myka were standing, and now they were in a huddle, helplessly watching the other agents' standoff.

"Artie," Pete whispered out of the side of his mouth. "What's the deal with his eyes?"

Artie looked reluctantly from Valda to Aries, his eyes squinting through his glasses. "He's being controlled." Artie looked worried.

"Controlled by what?" Myka asked.

"There was a coin from ancient Egypt, where it's said the art of hypnotism was created, using so-called 'dream temples'. The coins accidentally harnessed the persuasive energy from these rooms. They give the user power over the subconscious mind. There was only one surviving coin, and we bagged it a long time ago. Valda must have stolen it."

Claudia whispered angrily, "Now isn't really the time for an artifact history lesson." She waived her hands at the scene before them.

"How did you know we were here?" Frederic asked Valda, remaining strong despite being under the gun.

"You're not the only one with a fancy Fate-telling typewriter, Irene." He answered.

Kosan stepped toward Valda, hands raised. "Enough, Ben. What is the meaning of this?"

Valda met his eyes calmly. "I'm here for our little time-travelling friend here." He nodded his head toward the Fixer, who was still unconscious on the cement.

"How in the hell do you know about him?" Kosan demanded, his hands lowering.

"I've known about your little pet project for quite some time now." He turned the gun and his eyes toward Kosan. "You three created quite the superhero, didn't you? And you managed, well, almost managed, to hide it from me."

Kosan breathed in, staying calm under the barrel of the revolver. "Have you told the rest of the Regents?"

"No. The only one you have to worry about right now is me. Seeing as I'm the one with the gun." Valda pointed the gun toward the ceiling and shook it about. It was rusty and ancient-looking, and a ghostly aura seemed to emanate from it.

Myka gasped, clutching Pete's arm, "Pete, that's the gun!"

Kosan sprang toward Valda while he still had the gun in the air. The head Regent almost succeeded in tackling him, but Valda's arm came down in a snap, the air whooshing loudly around his suit jacket. The gunshot echoed between the shelves and the ceiling of the warehouse, seeming to go on forever. Kosan's shoulder snapped back, and his body crumpled to the ground. After a moment, he sat up gasping and cluching his left shoulder. The red stain expanded around his hand quickly.

Valda looked unfeeling. "Well, that's unfortunate."

Kosan stood up, dropped his hand from his shoulder, and started walking toward Valda with a frightening intensity. Suddenly, a little spark lit up the area, and a small flame started on top of his bloody wound, as if he'd held a match to it. Kosan patted on it quickly to put it out, but every time he tried to put out the flame, it just sprang back up again. He let out a yelp when the flame grew larger in a split second, now engulfing his entire arm.

Everyone else shrieked and started to move toward him.

Valda lifted the gun back to Mrs. Frederic. "Move and she dies too. He's beyond help now."

Kosan let out a pained, roaring cry that filled the Warehouse. In another second, the flame erupted over Kosan's entire body, and he broke out into a aimless run down the aisle behind Valda.

Everyone's eyes were on the tragic and horrifying scene. Myka had her hands over her mouth, and her face was flushed with tears. Pete held her almost too tightly, but she was too stunned to care. He looked directly at Valda, who had a sick half-smile on his face, and had resisted the urge, if it existed, to turn around and watch Kosan retreat into a symphony of agonized screams and red hot flames. Claudia buried her face into Artie's jacket, her entire body shaking. Artie had his chin resting on the top of her head, his eyes burning holes into the cement, and tears streaming down his cheeks.

The screams halted as the flaming man slowed to a crawl. He dropped to his knees, and with one final fall, Adwin Kosan was no more.

Simultaneously, a weight seemed to press down on everyone, and the place had become more cold, dark, and unforgiving.

"Okay. Now that that is over," Valda started, as if the previous events had not happened, "I am going to take this man." He gestured toward the still lifeless Fixer.

"Why, Ben?" Mrs. Frederic asked. Valda didn't answer.

"If he's had Jesse James' gun for as long I think he has, he isn't Ben anymore." Artie spoke up, getting angrier and louder by the second. "He's a psychopathic, power-hungry killer. That's why he wants the Fixer. Just another bid for absolute power." Next he spoke directly to Valda, "The one thing that _Ben _doesn't know is that absolute power is unattainable!"

"We'll see." Valda flashed another half-smile.

Artie growled, "You BASTARD!" He broke away from the group and staggered toward his boss' killer. Valda gave Artie a look of twisted pity and turned the gun toward him.

"ARTIE, NO!" Claudia screamed the loudest over the rest of the group, making even Valda wince a little bit.

About halfway to his target, Artie stopped.

Behind Valda stood none other than the Fixer, who promptly knocked the Jesse James pistol out of his hand. The gun spun and skittered loudly down the aisle before it stopped. Valda looked from the gun back to the Fixer.

"Gemini!" Valda managed to cry out before being knocked back twenty feet into the one of the Warehouse columns by one of the Fixer's powerful haymakers.

Aries reacted to his master's call, turning the gun toward the Fixer and firing immediately. Unfortunately for him, immediately wasn't fast enough. The Fixer reappeared in front of Aries, snatched the gun out of his hand, and turned it to face the stunned bald man.

Suddenly, the gold film cleared from Aries' eyes.

He had barely enough time to register what was happening before the bullet entered his forehead. Aries' lifeless body fell back and hit the ground in one fluid movement.

Moments after the dust settled, a strange, soft whirring noise sounded. Then, around the body of Aries, a glowing aura spun rapidly. The whirlwind reminded Pete of white noise on an old TV set, jumping around the body, obscuring it behind many dull, dancing stars. The sound became deeper, and Pete felt his eyes go out of focus, like an outside force was controlling them. He blinked rapidly trying to bring his sight back, but it was no use. It must have affected Myka and everyone else as well because he heard them gasp and he felt Myka's hands tighten around his arm.

The whirring sound stopped, and through the blur, Pete watched the gray glow dissipate. When he could focus his eyes again, Pete looked back at Aries' body. He had to blink many more times because he could not believe what he was seeing.

Lying where Aries body should have been was the body of the Fixer.

Pete eyed the man standing with the gun. He was also the Fixer. There were two of them.

Pete looked back and forth rapidly between the two Fixers. He settled on the dead Fixer. Purple goo was pouring out of the wound and forming a puddle around the head. The standing, still-living Fixer was just staring blankly at his own dead body. Neither a blink nor a breath disturbed his unyielding stare.

"What th– What just happ– Artie, why are there two of them? " Pete managed to gasp out, struggling to form sentences in the wake of this disorienting and preposterous turn of events. Artie's mouth opened and closed, but no sound came.

Before Artie could actually reply, the standing Fixer's gun dropped to the ground, and so did his knees. He opened his mouth and emitted the same many-voiced scream as before in the office, only this time it was louder and more chilling. Pete felt it reverberate in his bones.

A shot rang out from behind the Fixer, piercing through the cacophony of his scream. Pete looked over to see Valda standing with the Jesse James pistol aimed directly at the screaming man's heart. The bullet definitely made contact, but Pete never saw it come through the other side.

"Oh no." Pete muttered.

Pete felt the constant vibe come to a terrifying head, making his earlier vibe seem like a mere flutter.

This was it. Whatever 'it' was, it was happening.

A flash of light erupted from the Fixer's chest, nearly blinding Pete and the others. It reminded Pete of a brilliant, pure-white solar flare, waving slowly before the Fixer. The sound that accompanied its appearance was so low and bassy, that it vibrated the entire Warehouse and drowned out every other sound. The light began to expand until Pete could no longer see the Fixer, or Valda, or Toby and Rylee, who were still clinging to each other the last time he did see them. He watched Mrs. Frederic's still, pink-clad body fade away, and clung to Myka even tighter.

Before Artie could be overtaken by the light, Claudia scrambled over to him and hugged him. Pete tried to call their names, but it was no use. His voice was soundless, like in a nightmare. He watched them fade into the light as well.

He turned to Myka, the brightness creeping ever closer. The look of fear on her face broke his heart a million times over. He stroked her face lovingly before going in for a hug.

_I love you, _Pete tried to say. Myka pulled away.

_What?_ She mouthed. She'd felt the vibrations from his vocal cords on her neck.

Pete put both of his hands on her cheeks, savoring the warmth for what would most likely be the last time.

He looked deep into her eyes, and said,

_I lo–_

* * *

"–ve you."

Pete opened his eyes and beheld a ceiling of white plaster. He felt the softness of egyptian cotton sheets and the strong beat of his heart. He sat up slowly. It was his room in Leena's Bed and Breakfast. He looked over to the window, and though the blinds were drawn, blades of light leaked through to let him know it was early in the morning. He rolled himself over to the other side of the bed and reached for his watch that was resting on the night stand. A lighting bolt of pain shot through his torso.

"Jesus Christ!" He yelled clutching his back. What the hell had he done last night?

He sucked back another cry and reached over for the watch.

It was a simple piece that Myka had gotten him for Christmas last year after his old one had gotten wrecked on a mission. He managed to smile at the memory amid the back pain as he watched the silver hands move over the glossy, black face.

_7:44. Jun 19 2011. _

The alarm clock made one jarring buzz at 7:45 before Pete reflexively smashed his hand on the snooze button. He silently praised his internal clock for being so timely.

_Telford. _The word sprang to his mind, much to Pete's confusion.

His forehead crinkled. _Who or what is Telford?_ It was a stray thought from a dream, he reasoned as he moved the sheets from his legs and swung over the side of the bed to stand up. He endured another wave of pain, but thankfully the second was nowhere near the power of the first.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. "Whoa! Holy sh-" He lifted a hand to the side of his face, which was obscured by a grisly-looking bruise. "What the hell did I _do_ last night!" He said it out loud this time, gently caressing the sore skin of his cheek. He perused his reflection some more, hoping to not find anymore surprise injuries.

The clothes he was wearing were his normal white t-shirt for sleeping, but also his black suit pants. Pete _never _went to bed wearing his suit pants. He went to take them off, because he figured they were too wrinkled to wear to work, when he noticed a small cylindrical bump in his front pocket. He buried his hand in his pocket and pulled out a small vial.

_A bullet? _He shook the tiny slug inside its prison and heard an oddly familiar jangling sound.

Pete moved to check his other pockets. When he went for the back pockets, he felt the handle of a gun jutting out of his belt.

A vibe tickled at the back of his head. He pulled around the gun so he could view it. It was a Sig Sauer, but it wasn't his. He looked over at his own gun, laying unloaded next to his badge on the night stand, just to make sure it was still there.

The vibe was saying something to him, but he couldn't quite hear it yet, like it was whispering down an echoing subway tunnel. He looked back and forth between the bullet and the gun.

_Bullet. Gun. Bullet. Gun. Telford. _The name wafted back into his thoughts.

_Telford..._

Pete nearly jumped out of his skin when all of the events of the past few days rushed back into his head with the force of a tsunami. Time travel. Fixer. Jesse James gun. White light. Telford's name was quickly buried under miles and miles of more important happenings.

He ran to his door, nearly slamming himself into the oak trying to get out. The pain in his back was long forgotten as he gripped the door handle with great force.

When he finally blew the door open, he saw Myka standing there in her own doorway, looking just as frightened and stricken as Pete was sure he did.

They immediately embraced tightly, as if the world was ending at that moment.

"Myka, I love you." Pete pulled back so their faces were mere inches apart. Myka's eyes were widened, and her the corners of her mouth were turned up. Pete was sure that her memories returned simultaneously with his, and that she was most likely still in shock, but it was the first thing that popped into his head when he saw her, and damned if he wasn't going to say it. "I just wanted to actually finish saying it this time, you know, before I disappear again or something." He laughed softly, began to lean in, and closed his eyes. Myka began to do the same before pulling back, shaking her head.

"Pete! We have bigger things to deal with..." She pushed him away lightly, and immediately regretted it. Pete's face seemed to ooze sadness after her rejection, and it made him want to turn around and crawl back into bed, or perhaps spend a few years in the mirror prison.

Myka knew she had to correct her mistake. She cupped his cheek with her hand, and leaned in slowly for a kiss. It was simple and short, not the life-affirming, earth-shattering lip lock Pete had envisioned, but somehow better. He thought he could feel the future.

She spoke gently, "I love you too, jackass." Pete let out a little snort. "Let's just find Artie, and figure out what the hell just happened, then we can figure out... us."

Pete just stared lethargically back into her eyes and nodded.

"A little more urgency would be nice, Pete. Seeing as there's a mad man with an unpredictable artifact out there..."

Pete's head shot up. "Right!" An imaginary triple shot of espresso shot through his veins and sent him barreling down the stairs leaving a bewildered Myka behind. She snapped out of it immediately and followed him.

When they reached the bottom a worried-looking Leena met them. "You guys, what's wrong?" Myka and Pete eyed her strangely. _She doesn't remember anything. _

Leena looked at Pete, and she covered her mouth in fright. "Pete, what happened to your face?!"

"No time to explain, Leena," Pete spoke, "where's Artie?"

Leena still looked very worried, but she seemed to accept that he wasn't going to tell her, "He should be here any minute."

As if on cue, a car horn beeping repeatedly could be heard coming down the street and then into the driveway toward the house.

"I guess that answers our question." Pete said before running to the front along with Myka. "Thanks, Leena! See you later, hopefully!"

"What do you mean 'hopefully'?" Leena yelled in time with the slamming of the front door.

Pete and Myka reached Artie's car just as it skidded to a stop.

"Artie, what the hell just happened?" Pete yelled into the passenger side window. Artie just held up a hand. He looked calm and collected, as opposed to how he acted before the strange event, and how Pete and Myka acted now.

"Get in. I'll explain on the way." He spoke.

They obliged, piling into the two-seater. Myka had to sit on Pete's lap in order to make it as comfortable as possible, which still wasn't very comfortable. As soon as they were secure, Artie pulled a gigantic U-turn and sped out onto the main road.

"Jesus, Artie!" Pete yelled, feeling Myka's body crush him,. Pete's back cried in opposition, making him choke on his own breaths. Artie remained silently determined, ignoring Pete's obvious discomfort.

His back calmed down as they entered the main road, and a few minutes later, he felt well enough to speak. "Artie, why did we all travel back twelve years? What the hell happened?" Pete asked, desperate for any answer.

Artie's arm jolted to the side, sending the car into the other lane and back. Myka was about to ask him what was wrong when a light humming sounded above the drone of the engine. Pete and Myka watched terrified as Artie's gray hair morphed into white and the shallow wrinkles deepened into those of the future-Artie. Light brown spots faded into being on his trembling hands and moist forehead.

He aged twelve years in ten seconds.

The now older man made brief eye contact with Pete before refocusing on the road ahead. He floored the accelerator pedal, sending the question blazing back into Pete's throat along with a fresh wave of hurt.

"Something very, _very _bad."


	13. The Loop

**Chapter 12**

Aries sighed deeply as he perused the case file in front of him. The sheets of paper were hot out of the printer and warmed his hands nicely, but his heart remained as cold as it had for as long as he could remember.

Mr. So-and-so was suing Giant Evil Company Inc. for wrongful termination, and blah blah blah.

Aries had worked a thousand, no a million, cases just like this one. In every one, he'd been the one to crush So-and-so's dreams, sending the So-and-so family back to Anytown, USA to die anonymous deaths at the hands of some common illness brought upon by eating at some ubiquitous fast food restaurant, which was the only place they could afford to eat after Aries had been done with them.

He could have at least taken them out to a nice, expensive dinner beforehand.

Aries swiveled his computer chair around. The city looked the same. There's one thing they don't tell you about nice views. Every day they become more and more banal. The only thing that didn't become less appealing was the thought of hurtling himself through the window, if only to actually _feel _the view.

He laughed at himself. Aries was much too cowardly to actually go through with something like that. He didn't really want to die.

A little static shock poked at his finger from the metal lining on his chair as Aries stood up to move closer to the window. He looked all the way down to the ground, and sure enough there was the black van in the exact same parking spot. He envied the men who had to watch him day in and day out. They must have had a good salary, with good benefits, maybe even dental. And all they had to do was keep tabs on a man with no clue as to who he was or why they were watching him. For a second, Aries was strangely glad that his existence was helping _someone_.

He heard a door open from outside his office, and turned around to look at his atomic clock.

_7:55. Jun 19 2011._

Nigel was nothing if not punctual, Aries thought as he turned his head back to the van. A little precursor of a headache poked at the back of his skull, causing him to stroke at the stubble on the back of his head. At least the pain wasn't as bad as when he woke up today.

The door opened loudly.

"Ever hear of knocking, Nigel?" He swiveled around.

The only thing he saw, before being overcome by a familiar wave of nausea and subsequent comfort, was the barrel of a gun and the stoic, emotionless face of Benedict Valda.

* * *

The red Jaguar cannonballed down the country road sending the weeds on the wayside flowing outward like a wake on the sea. Artie gripped the steering wheel so tightly, beads of sweat started to form on his hands and fall onto the shiny, wooden surface.

"Mr. Kosan was found burned alive in his office this morning." He said grimly.

Myka looked confused and scared. "What does that mean?"

"I think whatever happened back in the Warehouse triggered some kind of massive time loop." Artie turned into the road that led to the Warehouse. Pete and Myka braced themselves hard during the sharp, urgent turn. "The whole world is now twelve years in the past."

"How is Kosan still dead then, if everyone traveled back?" Pete asked, trying to breathe with Myka on top of him.

"Nothing like this has ever happened before. All of this is uncharted scientific territory. But I have my own theory about what happened."

Artie stopped talking when they approached the Warehouse, the rusty exterior looking oddly welcoming to Pete. They exited the car, much to Pete and Myka's relief. Artie remotely opened the door and continued walking and talking. "When a loop is created..." Artie stopped talking as he entered the doorway. He sped ahead of them down the stairs and into the mouth of the tunnel.

"When a loop is created, what?" Myka barked impatiently as they made their way through the umbilicus.

"I'm trying to think of a way to explain this so that you'll understand!" Artie shouted back before entering his biometric information and key code to his office door. It opened with a hiss and they walked quickly inside.

"Myka, Pete!" Claudia cried. She jumped at them immediately as they entered, both frightening and relieving them. Artie set his bag down and made his way to the chalk board. Claudia released Pete and Myka, and they followed him.

Artie erased everything crudely, leaving the edges still white with chalk dust and markings. He took a piece of chalk and drew a straight, horizontal line through the center.

He then drew an arc over the line, starting at the right end of the line and ending somewhere in the middle. To Pete, it looked like a lowercase 'b' that had fallen on its back. _Listening to Artie explain this probably_.

"When a loop is created, it is infinite. It is always happening. It has always happened. It will continue to happen. To us, right now, this loop is happening for the first time. But there is no

'first time'. This is only the first time we remember it." Artie paused to look at Pete's face, which was screwed up in a confused expression. He was absolutely lost, yet again.

"It's happening over and over again." Artie circled the chalk repeatedly over the loop on the board. "I think that this loop is putting incredible strain on the space-time continuum. And subsequently, events that happened in the future, and the memories pertaining to those events, are starting to bleed through into the past, carried back with this loop. The universe is starting to unravel."

"Now THAT I can understand." Pete said, then he cocked his head. "That _is_ bad, right?"

"That's _very_ bad."

Myka stepped forward, her knuckles rubbing on her chin. "This must have been what that the Instinct computer detected. The unknown threat that Hugo didn't program for."

"How could he have? These loops are purely theoretical. Well, so was everything else he programmed for, but this was way out there. I'm sure he never considered it." Artie said.

"How do you think it happened?" Myka asked Artie.

Pete could tell Artie's brain was operating at full speed trying to formulate another theory. "Well, it was obviously the Fixer..." Artie spoke, lifting up his head.

"Two things must be true, given the events that have occurred. One, that Aries was actually the Fixer. Two, that Aries was the Fixer's future-self. The loop was created the instant he killed his future-self. He sealed his own fate." Artie shook his head and rubbed his eyes, moving his glasses outward. "It seems crazy, but it has to be true. It's the only thing that explains what we saw and what happened."

"That sounds a little far-fetched. And by 'a little', I mean 'a shit-ton'." Claudia said disbelievingly.

Artie met her eyes. "No one is more skeptical than I am. Gemini had all of the documents when he joined the Warehouse. Birth certificate, drivers license, school records, a diploma, a bachelor's degree, a master's degree, anything else you can think of. He had FAMILY... I know, I was a part of the team that erased their memories. The Fixer in essence, as improbable as it sounds... created a person. And he was able to seamlessly integrate himself into everyone's lives." Artie looked down and rubbed his forehead. "It's the only thing that explains it." He repeated, more to himself than any of the others.

Myka tilted her head to the side. "Let's say that all of this is true. Sure... the Fixer would be caught in his own time loop; but, theoretically, it shouldn't affect us or anything else, right?" She walked toward him, lowering her voice. "The whole world turned back twelve years, Artie. That seems like something a little more extreme than a simple time loop."

"You're forgetting we're not dealing with a normal man here." Artie said.

Pete had a light bulb, and pointed his finger at a black and white photo, containing a certain revolver, that was pinned to the cork-board. "Valda shot him with the Jesse James gun. The same gun that sent me through time. Plus, he already had all of those artifacts inside him... Who the hell knows what kind of damage that crazy combo would do. Do you think that's what did it?"

Artie hummed, "Hmm. That shot certainly was the catalyst that triggered the event. It must have given the Fixer the power to force _everything_ into this loop instead of just himself."

Claudia squinted, thinking about something. "We know what caused the loop, why don't we just grab Aries now and prevent him from getting killed by himself? I mean, we know the future, so we can change the future."

"It won't matter. I think the time stream has literally been bent back into itself." Artie moved his arms as if he was bending an invisible pipe. "Even if we did capture Aries and protect him right up to the moment the event occurs twelve years from now, it would still happen."

Myka took a deep breath. "So, what happens now?"

Artie's mouth tightened. "Well, given what happened to Kosan, and my premature aging, the future will continue to meld with the past. It will begin with the people and objects closest to the epicenter of the event. Slowly at first, then I predict it will speed up as the fabric of time weakens further. I'm not exactly sure what will happen after that, but eventually everything will collapse."

The group was silent for a minute, stewing in their own thoughts, and staring at the pitiful graphic on the chalkboard. Pete now thought that it looked like a balloon, lying on the ground, air slowly seeping out from an unseen hole. It was a sad and oddly fitting representation of their situation.

He looked at Myka and Claudia. He could certainly see that they had aged in the past few minutes. Although not as drastically as with Artie's full white hair and wrinkled skin, they had subtle lines and a few grays peppered throughout.

Pete curled his hands into fists and clenched his jaw. He slammed his hand on the chalkboard, sending it rolling into the wall. "There has to be something we can do! What about the Fixer? Where is he? If Aries was the Fixer, we could find him and use him to..." Pete stopped, not really knowing what to say next.

Claudia sat down in Artie's chair and rolled over to the computer. She typed and moused at lightning speed, pulling up a windows of all of Aries' documents, credit card statements, bank statements and the like. "There isn't any recent activity on any credit cards." She started typing again. "I'm going to set up a facial recognition search based on his license photo." Two windows popped up. One contained the grim-looking photo of Aries, while the other showed millions of security camera video feeds whizzing past the screen in neat rows, incomprehensible to the naked human eye. "If his face shows up anywhere in the New York area, we'll know."

Artie allowed a little smile. "Nice work, Claudia." He turned back to Pete and Myka. "I contacted Mrs. Frederic immediately after I remembered everything, and I told her about my time loop theory. She'll be able to help, too."

"When d'you think she'll get here?" Pete asked.

"Any minu–"

Just then the door hissed open and an intense-looking Mrs. Frederic and a frightened-looking Hugo Miller burst into the office. It wasn't her usual stealthy entrance, but she probably didn't have time for the theatrics. "Arthur. We have to talk."

"Haha. I was just saying how you– uh, nevermind. What have you found out?"

"The Regents are in a state of disarray. I've kept the events of the past day secret. If your theories are correct, them knowing would not matter, and I figured it would just waste precious time." She paused, making eye contact with everyone in the room. "Valda has gone missing, and so has Aries. I assume you worked out that Aries is the Fixer?" She asked, seeming displeased with that fact.

Artie nodded. "Do you think Valda has him?" He asked, worriedly.

"I'm not sure. If he does, we will not have much time to sit around and plan. I've briefed Hugo on the situation." Hugo looked up and smiled, hearing his name enter the conversation. "He is going to help in any way he can in regards to the Fixer."

"Amazing, isn't he?" Hugo smiled. "So powerful!"

Pete was annoyed with him already. "Yeah. And he might destroy the universe. That amazing, too?"

Mrs. Frederic waved down Hugo before he could retort. "Enough." It was the last word on that matter. "Arthur, have you given any thought to how to correct this loop before things start to spiral out of control?"

Artie sat down in a chair with a groan. He missed the younger body he'd had just a few minutes ago. "I don't know if I can. The artifact interactions that must have taken place to create such an event are... unknowable... Even if we did have all of the artifacts inside the Fixer. The only person that can correct the damage done to the time stream is the Fixer himself."

Pete sighed, "And we have no idea where he is."

"You might want to hold that thought." Claudia said, still eyeing the computer. "I just got a hit on Valda's car."

Everyone huddled around the computer. Pete placed a hand on the desk. The image on the screen was from a traffic cam. Valda was stopped at a red light in his usual black sedan. He had a sour look on his face, and it made Pete want to reach through the screen an punch it off. "Where is he?" Pete asked, with a little more disgust than he intended.

"He's in Edison, New Jersey. About to turn onto the 287. Want me to alert local authorities?" Claudia asked.

"No. Benedict is too dangerous and too smart. If we send the police after him, he'll run and we'll probably never find him. We'll have to intercept ourselves." Frederic answered. "Who is that in the car with him?"

Pete looked back at the computer screen. He hadn't seen another person in the car, but on second glance he could make out a face in the back seat. Pete looked closer. He could see that the eyes had no pupils; they looked glazed over. "It's Aries. Look at the eyes."

"If he has Aries, he has the Fixer." Artie said sadly, leaning back into his chair.

"Not necessarily." Hugo piped up from behind them. He had taken a place on the couch, playing with a Rubik's cube he'd procured from one of his coat pockets. "When he locked himself in the time loop by killing his future-self, he went into hibernation by creating Aries, creating a new life, a shell to hide itself in. While in hibernation, the Fixer is essentially dead, and therefore useless as a time-traveling Superman. He is a normal human being."

"Well, that's good then, right?" Pete said. "It means Valda can't use him."

"Right!" Hugo yelled happily. "Only when the threat disappears, which won't happen any time soon, can the Instinct reawaken itself. The only two ways other than that are to kill him, or to hack him."

Frederic said, "We're to assume that he's going to try the latter?"

"Yes. But the only computer in the world that has the ability to hack him is here in the Warehouse."

"I doubt he has the cojones to try and come here." Pete laughed, then the smile faded. "Does he?"

Hugo solved the Rubik's cube and set it down next to him on the sofa. He looked conflicted. "Hmm."

"What is it, Hugo?" Frederic inquired.

"Where did you say Valda was heading?"

Claudia answered, "He was in Edison, New Jersey, about to merge onto the highway. Interstate 287."

"Hmm. Before I started working in Eureka, there'd been an issue with the 'dream-reader,' a device that accessed and allowed a person to dream another person's dream. It was discovered that these shared dreams caused the buildup of a lethal compound in the spinal cords of the dreamers. Three deaths were recorded. This was a couple years before my time. A few months after I joined Global Dynamics, the Department of Defense requested for me to unearth the Dream Reader device. I repurposed it."

"Repurposed it for what?" Frederic felt a little uneasy hearing about things her (even though not technically 'hers') agents did that she didn't know about.

"For mind-reading, and mind-controlling. It would have been a very great asset for the United States military. I never could solve the fatal growth problem though, so the project was scrapped again."

Myka took a couple steps forward. "What does this have to do with anything?"

"The device is stored in a military safe house in Allentown, Pennsylvania."

The sound of typing interrupted Hugo. "That's about an hour and a half away from where Valda was last sighted." Claudia spoke.

Mrs. Frederic turned back to Hugo. "Do you think Benedict will go after the device?"

"The device works on a neuronal level. It could be used to hack the Instinct computer, or at least awaken it from hibernation." Hugo said. "And, him not technically being a living human being, he wouldn't be susceptible to the growth problem." Artie and Pete both felt a little uneasy at the interchangeability of 'he' and 'it', but neither showed their feelings.

Frederic turned away from the group, deep in thought. "Benedict must have been planning this for a long while, before he even knew that Aries was the Fixer."

Artie said, from his chair. "The Jesse James gun wreaks havoc on a person. Gives them an obsession for power as well as an addiction to committing acts of violence, particularly after a robbery. He must have been fixated on getting a position of power by becoming a Regent. After he attained that, he had nothing to work toward, so he started committing the random acts of violence at banks around the country, but then that became too dangerous for him. Pete and Myka very nearly exposed him. He must have found out about the Fixer sometime after that. Another goal. Another thing to obsess over. It's no surprise he's had a plan to hack the Fixer from the beginning."

Mrs. Frederic bit her lower lip furiously. "How did he hide this side of himself from us for so long?" She asked rhetorically, with a bite of anger.

"Like you said, he's clever, and dangerous. Plus, the gun turned him into a psychopath. It's a lot easier to create a facade when you have no emotions." Artie answered, and placed a hand on her back. "You had no way of knowing."

"Of course I did!" She bit. "We all did! We worked with the man for thirty years, Arthur. There are no excuses."

Artie looked down, ashamed. "Maybe if we get the gun and neutralize it, he could–"

"You and I both know that it wouldn't matter." Frederic interrupted.

Pete felt uncomfortable listening to them air out their dirty laundry. He barely even knew Valda. Sure, he'd had a few encounters with him and the man seemed to be somewhat of an asshole, but he never figured the man to be a psychopathic killer. To find out that this was the man that shot him in the chest and sent him through time pissed him off to say the least.

Frederic stood up and straightened her jacket, regaining her composure. She turned to Pete, "Agent Lattimer, I want you and Agent Bering to get to Allentown as fast as possible." Pete nodded, with a 'yes, ma'am'. "Your main priority is the device. Destroy it, if necessary. That will buy us some more time."

Artie stood up, and put his arms on both Pete and Myka. "Avoid a firefight with Valda. That gun gives him deadly speed and accuracy. And if he hits you..." Artie paused, shivering at the memory of Kosan burning, something he wished he still didn't remember. "Well, just don't let him hit you."

"Artie, we'll have to face him eventually. We need the Fixer." Myka spoke quietly, trying to ease his worry.

Pete put an arm on Artie's shoulders. "Yeah, we got this, Artie."

A little smile crept up. "I know you do." He replied to both of them. "But I'd rather it be on our terms and with a little more preparation."

Frederic then turned to Hugo and Claudia. "I want you two to work together on a way to hack the Fixer, and also maybe a way to correct this disaster."

Hugo stood up from the couch and made his way out the door with Claudia. "Can we take the zip-line?" Pete heard from inside, making him laugh a little.

"Arthur and I will back you up from here." Frederic said, turning back to Pete and Myka. "We'll arrange for a helicopter. Time is a factor in this mission."

"Yeah, no kidding." Pete joked to an unamused Mrs. Frederic.

Artie hollered from his chair, "Get your asses out there! You heard the woman!" Pete smiled, happy that twelve years hadn't turned Artie into a _total_ softie.

He and Myka entered the umbilicus and were silent as they made their way down the corridor, each contemplating the frightening notion that the events that followed could very well decide the fate of the universe. Not just the country, nor just the Earth. Pete wrapped his hand around Myka's and squeezed. Then he let go, only wanting one moment to savor. They reached the stairs and stopped.

"Pete, what are you doing?" Myka asked. "We gotta get going."

"Myka, I just want to let you know, if we don't make it out of this whole situation alive..." Pete started, fatefully.

"You love me? Yeah, I got that from the past few times you said it. Or tried to." Myka cracked, making Pete proud.

He decided to follow her lead. "Dammit, you ruined my heartfelt confession, Myka!"

She laughed, and put a hand on the side of his face, lightly touching the black bruise that marred Pete's cheekbone. If he felt any pain from it, he didn't show it.

"C'mon." She said as the sound of helicopter blades began to penetrate the walls. _That was fast_, Pete thought, amused. "We'll talk when we get back. You heard Mrs. Frederic. The device is the priority. As long as we get there first, we won't even have to worry about Valda. At least not yet."

Pete nodded. She was right. All the more reason to get there as fast as possible. He walked up the stairs and the door opened by itself. The wind from the helicopter blew dust into Pete's eyes, but he just drove onward. It was only another mission. One that was just as important as any other. It was protecting the people of the country and the world from the unknown. And although this problem was perhaps larger in scale, that job still hadn't changed.

As he got closer to the monstrous, spiraling propeller, he offhandedly felt the round scar beneath his tattered t-shirt, wondering if he would have the opportunity to get revenge on the man who essentially took his life away. He lifted his hand away from the scar to grip the safety bar and climb into the back of the chopper. He decided not to dwell on thoughts of revenge, but rather on thoughts of making it back to the Warehouse alive.

He made a sideways glance at Myka as she climbed into the passenger area of the cockpit.

_I ain't dying so soon._

* * *

Artie and Mrs. Frederic watched the helicopter retreat outside the frame of the video feed on Artie's computer. The wind rocked a few tufts of meadow grass into the ground, and sent others spinning out of control. Eventually, the chopper flew far enough away, and the grass ceased to move.

Artie closed the video feed and sighed, covering his face with his hands, and resting his elbows on the desktop. Frederic still stood staring at the door where Pete and Myka had disappeared just moments before.

"Do you think we can overcome this, Arthur?" She spoke quietly. The question sounded unnatural coming out of her mouth. Showing doubt was highly out of character for her.

Artie lifted his head up slightly, but still didn't indicate any kind of answer.

"Because I'm just not sure this time." She walked over the the Warehouse window, staring out into the endless abyss. "We've been far too lucky for far too long. Something was bound to go wrong eventually."

Artie looked at her, slightly awed that his boss was speaking to him like this. "We've kept it under control for hundreds of years. With our team, we can keep it that way." It was a very Artie-like response. Courageous and determined as he was, it just wasn't as infectious as usual for her.

Frederic was not used to this feeling. At first, she couldn't even put a word to it, but eventually she did.

Hopelessness.

And though the tone of her voice did not betray any of this, her words did. "The universe has lived for fourteen billion years. Human kind has been around for fifty thousand. These artifacts..." She paused, searching for the right words. "The forces that are responsible for their existence are unpredictable, incomprehensible, and, above all, ancient... Perhaps more ancient than the universe itself. We've kept them under control, if we can call it that, for a fraction of a sliver of time. It's all unraveling, Arthur... It's all–"

She stopped abruptly, focusing on something in the deep belly of the Warehouse. Artie didn't have to ask what stopped her; he saw it himself.

Several rows deep into the Warehouse appeared a dazzlingly bright light. It cast a deep blue, almost purple hue over the surrounding area. The edge twinkled and shivered like a faraway star, but remained fixed otherwise. Artie broke from his trance and reached for his Farnsworth. The machine buzzed just before his hand touched it. Claudia must have been way ahead of him. He opened the cover without breaking his stare at the mysterious light.

"Please tell me you're seeing this, Artie." He could detect some fear in Claudia's voice, even through the crackling speaker of the Farnsworth.

Artie opened his mouth as if to speak, but the air caught in his throat. Eventually, he muttered, "Yeah, I see it."

"You should really come down here."

Artie shut the cover and made his way to the stairwell with Frederic close behind. The walked at a brisk pace, closer and closer to the light.

As they neared the aisle of destination, Artie began to feel waves of energy. They were weak at first, but as Artie got closer the light, they started to make his muscles twitch and the small hairs on the back of his neck and up his arms stand straight.

Claudia and Hugo stood a respectable distance away from what appeared to be a crack of light in the center of the aisle.

There was a bulge of blinding white energy that took up most of the aisle. Every few seconds or so, the bulge would widen like it was taking a breath, and then deflate again, sending a wave of invisible static energy. Upon closer inspection, Artie could see the white light was swirling steadily and endlessly toward the center, like a maelstrom at sea. On both ends, extending a good ten feet upward and downward were two glowing spires that broke into many different "branches" of blue energy, like a leafless tree, or a lightning bolt, frozen in time.

Space was, quite literally, cracked.

"It looks like it's alive." Claudia wasn't facing Artie, but she knew he and Frederic stood just behind her. She walked a few steps forward. Artie reached out his arm and grabbed her sleeve.

"Don't." He really didn't need to say much more. The old Claudia would have ignored him, but she'd long since learned that when Artie was being genuinely serious (rather than "Artie serious"), it was best to listen.

Hugo however, never did learn that, and kept walking toward the light.

"Hugo, stop, you don't know what that thing is!" Artie warned.

Hugo acquiesced, stopping a few feet before the lambent oval. "Oh, I know exactly what it is. It's a wormhole. A crack in space-time. Most likely created by the Fixer." He looked back at the rest of the group. "Don't worry. As long as we don't enter the vortex, we should be fine. I don't think a human being could survive inside, but out here we'll be okay."

Claudia was the first to join Hugo, followed closely, albeit more tentatively, by Frederic and Artie.

"Wormholes have two ends, right?" Claudia asked, her eyes glazed over in wonder. "So where does it go?"

Hugo reached his hand toward the white center, mere inches away. It felt hot and cold at the same time. He reveled in that marvelous feeling. "Who knows? It could go anywhere, or nowhere. Could go to another time or place. Or even another universe." It was a simple answer, and not really an answer at all, but it seemed to satisfy Claudia.

Artie found it tough to be so close to the wormhole. The static waves gave him goosebumps and a shivery feeling that rested firmly on the fence between hypnotic and torturous. He looked over at Mrs. Frederic, who didn't appear to be affected at all by the sight before her, but Artie knew better.

Frederic spoke, "Hugo, I want you to study this wormhole. Find out anything and everything you can about it." He nodded without looking at her. "Claudia, can you finish the work you've already begun?"

Claudia, looking like she'd been snapped out of a trance, pulled her eyes away to face Frederic. "Yeah, I think so." Reluctantly, she began to walk back toward the computer lab.

"I'll go with you. I'll need some major equipment to study this beast." He laughed as if nothing had changed, and followed Claudia, leaving Artie and Frederic alone yet again.

"Everything may be falling apart, Irene, but at least it's kind of beautiful." He whispered. She could barely hear him above the low humming tone that emanated from the vortex as it breathed in and out, but she heard it nonetheless. They made brief, but meaningful, eye contact before resuming their gaze at the monstrous white hole.


	14. Semper Fidelis

**Chapter 13**

They put the helicopter down about a mile out from the military compound in Allentown. Neither agent was very happy about the choice, but it was the only way to ensure that Valda didn't catch onto the agents, and the only way to retain the precious element of surprise.

Pete's back was protesting every movement, but he'd reasoned with Myka on the ride down that he'd walked a lot farther and fought a lot more with worse injuries before. His jaw felt like it was a mile wide, but other than that the only frightening aspect of that injury was the bruise, which had shown no sign of fading anytime soon.

As they exited the chopper, the buzz of the Farnsworth squawked over the decaying drone of the propellers. Myka opened the cover. "Artie, we just touched down. What's the status on Valda's car?"

"We had a satellite camera following him on interstate 78, but he took the exit in Easton around twenty minutes ago. Easton is, give or take, thirty minutes away from the Allentown Department of Defense base. He should be getting close by now. Be careful." Myka promised with a nod. "We've had an... interesting turn of events here, but that will have to wait 'till you get back. Remember, get the device, and try, TRY, to stay OUT of Valda's way." The screen went black.

Pete sighed. "Don't know about you, but I'm getting pretty sick of 'interesting turns of events'." He did his best Artie impression, which still wasn't very good.

Myka chuckled lightly, before asking, "Where is this base at again?"

"I believe the term 'nondescript warehouse on the outside of the city' was used." Pete answered, pointing in the direction. "Apparently, there's only two or three armed sentries there at all times, but if Valda is there I don't want to tip him off by going in through the front door. Think Mrs. Frederic will mind if we break in?"

"I doubt it." Myka said, while walking in the supposed direction of the base.

Pete checked his watch. "We should get there just in time. But we'll have to run."

Their shoes crunched through the shin-high grass as they jogged toward the compound. Pete looked at the sun, barely peeking over the horizon through the treeline, and he was grateful that they would have some nighttime cover as well as the element of surprise on their side.

After a few minutes of running, they came to the wooded area they had circled around in the chopper. And eventually, they were stopped by an eight-foot tall barbed-wire fence, behind which was a dirt road with the telltale signs, literal and otherwise, of military use.

Myka made quick work of the fence by tossing her jacket over the barbs and deftly climbing and swinging over the top like a gymnast. She landed softly and turned around, clapping the non-existent dust off of her hands.

"Christ, Myka." Pete whispered before trying the feat himself. After a few seconds, Pete managed to get over the fence, albiet with a little less flashiness than Myka's effort. He landed with a huff and smiled to himself, while Myka looked surprised. "What? I _was_ a Marine, you know." Myka started running again. Pete followed, calling, "You know, for every cookie I eat, I do like a thousand sit-ups!"

"Shhhh!" Myka slowed to a calculated and silent walk.

They had come upon a security gate, which was the last barrier before the compound. The guard shack next to the road was empty, and parked in front of it was a very familiar black sedan.

"Myka, let's get off the road." Pete uttered, underneath the sound of the wind. By then, darkness had encroached enough to hide them in the shade of the forest.

As they neared, they could see that the driver door to the sedan was ajar, and the accompanying annoying pinging noise echoed suspiciously outward. Pete pulled his gun out and pointed it forward, ready to fire at any moment, and he heard the faint buzzing of Myka's Tesla behind him.

Pete crouched down below the window line of the back seat door and slid his fingers slowly under the handle. He nodded to Myka, and, in one swift movement, he opened the door and threw the upper half of his body into the car, with gun raised. He was greeted by stale air and a barren back seat.

"It's empty. They're inside already." Pete shot up and out, and walked quickly toward the gate. Myka, noticing something, stopped behind him.

"Pete!"

He turned around and saw that she was looking into the guard box. It wasn't empty, but it's occupant was no longer living.

The guard was slumped in his chair over the small countertop. He had been shot twice, once in the chest and once in the head, and out of each exit-wound grew what seemed to be a red Bonsai tree, whose roots were curling in and out of the man's skin like the forest in which they now stood. Pete's stomach turned and so did his head. He felt bad for the man, but there was nothing they could do now except stop the psycho responsible.

He clenched his teeth and continued forward, imploring Myka to follow.

They made their way down the dirt road that circled the windowless white warehouse until they came upon a large garage door that had been forced open.

Pete and Myka silently sidled along the ruffled wall toward the opening. They heard an echo-y voice from inside. As Pete got closer to the door, he could hear the voice sounded alert and authoritative. _Another guard_? Pete thought.

He held his hand up for Myka to stop.

Pete inched closer, and peered his head around the corner, trying to keep as much of his body out of view as possible. Luckily, nobody was looking in the garage door's direction.

A single guard had both Valda and Aries at gunpoint. The men were in the center of the rather small warehouse, which Pete noticed was spectacularly empty except for a couple white, windowless (_Big surprise_, Pete thought) vans tucked away in the corner of the room. There was also what Pete assumed to be an office of some kind on the opposite end. He saw nothing that looked like a dream-reader device anywhere.

"I said put your _god-damn_ hands over your head!" The assault rifle-wielding soldier shouted to the intruders. Neither of them assented.

"You're making a big mistake, soldier. I'm with the Secret Service. What is your name?" Valda still had that infuriating smugness about his voice. It made Pete want to burst in there and open fire, but at that moment Myka's hand patted him, and gripped his shoulder supportively. He restrained himself.

"I'm asking the questions, asshole! I heard shots out there. I will not hesitate to open fire. Identify yourself, NOW!"

The corner of Valda's mouth curled up ever-so-slightly, and he instantaneously pulled the Jesse James pistol out of its holster and sent a bullet flying. _The kid didn't stand a chance_. A few rounds from the assault rifle flew into the ceiling as its bearer fell backwards into the cold, now red, cement. The firearm spun and skittered several feet away. The soldier moaned loudly, clutching his gut. Valda wanted this man to suffer, apparently.

Pete restrained himself yet again from running in. Instead, he watched as Valda and Aries made their way over to a computer panel that Pete didn't notice before. The psychopath typed something into the panel, and a good quarter of the floor started to descend into the ground. A three foot-high safety railing automatically rose up and around the edges with a machinery hum.

_A cargo elevator? _Pete thought. _There is definitely more to this place than meets the eye._

He waited for the two men's heads to disappear underground before he motioned for him and Myka to move around the corner.

Pete walked immediately over to the wounded guard. He reached for his badge to show the soldier, but he remembered he left it in 1976, and then laughed inwardly at how casually he recalled that fact.

Myka had the same idea though, and knelt down next to the soldier showing her badge. "Secret Service. What's your name, soldier?"

"Corporal Thomas... Ungh... Thomas Gravely, United States Marine Corps." He began to shift his body up.

"No, no! Don't move. We're gonna call for help... You're... gonna be fine. You just need to stay still, okay?" The soldier nodded. Myka was lying, and Pete could tell it pained her. Hell, it pained him to watch her. Both the Secret Service agents knew that, any moment now, the soldier would meet a horrifying and unfortunate end at the hands of the Jesse James gun.

"Semper Fi, Corporal." Pete said out of habit, kneeling to join his partner. "We're after the man who just shot you. Is there any other way down there? We can't call the elevator back without alerting them. And it's really important that he doesn't know that we're after him." His voice was soft with pity.

The corporal looked over to the elevator and pointed, speaking with pained words. "There's an emergency ladder that runs along the shaft."

"Thank you, Corporal. You've served your country very well." He said, while he stood up to walk toward the elevator shaft. Pete truly didn't know what to say to the doomed soldier. By some stroke of luck, if he could call it that, the artifact gun sent Pete through time rather than doing something more deadly. Pete hoped to God that the kid would be spared like he was.

Myka remained kneeling next to the Marine. "Corporal, I also want to ask you if you know anything about a device called the 'dream-reader', it's supposed to be stored here somewhere."

The soldier shook his head, breathing heavily, "I don't know what they keep down there. They got a guy down there, an inventory guy. He should be able to hel- AHHHHH!"

The soldier was interrupted by a stream of deep red, finger-sized ants that started pouring ferociously out of his gut wound. Myka shrieked and jumped back from the flood of vicious creatures that seemed to swallow the screaming soldier whole in one second and stop his thrashing about in the next.

"MYKA!" Pete bellowed, running toward her. He grunted loudly as he slipped on the soldier's discarded rifle, and took a hard fall to the shoulder.

Pete rolled over and watched, terrified and helpless, as Myka stumbled back over the railing and into the open elevator shaft.


End file.
